


Fragments

by Aussi18



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22708621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aussi18/pseuds/Aussi18
Summary: Five years after Regina is made the Good Queen, she reflects on how everyone else has been able to move on with their lives, how they are busy raising families and taking care of their loved ones, but more and more, she finds herself alone. She is certain that this dreary life is all there is for her, until her Evil counterpart comes up with a plan that just might get them both the happy ending they're deserved.
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Robin Hood
Comments: 52
Kudos: 49
Collections: Outlaw Queen Valentine’s Gift Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ankareeda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ankareeda/gifts).



> For ankareeda, with all my heart <3
> 
> LovefromOQ2020
> 
> I'm just going to say right now, that because this is canon, the original, beautiful, wonderful Robin Hood is dead and he's not coming back - blame A&E for that. But I will tell you that this fic does have a very happy ending, it is Outlaw Queen and it's all fluffy, so please give it a shot before you walk away. I swear it's happy.

It’s quiet now.

Regina supposes that she should be grateful for it. That in the aftermath of all the pain and suffering she has both inflicted and endured, that at the close of what was more of a Stephen King novel than a fairytale, she should be relieved to slip into a state of hushed repose. She should find comfort beneath the dazzling white crown that’s perched poignantly on top of her head, signifying her pilgrimage from the very darkest depths of evil, all the way up to where she currently sits atop this pearlescent throne of sugary sweet _goodness._

It is very likely that somewhere deep down she _is_ thankful for her situation, and, if she were to be asked, she is certain she could provide that answer honestly.

But it’s just so _fucking_ quiet.

It has been five years since she was crowned _the Good Queen_ , and there is widespread peace and prosperity throughout the realms. Oh, they are not without their troubles - on occasion some fool takes it upon themselves to fall into villainous ways and must be tended to - but Regina rarely participates, or even _hears_ of such things anymore. She has been deemed _too important_ to be bothered it seems, and though she does not crave conflict or seek danger, there is little to break up the dull monotony of governing and politicking that has since become her life.

Everyone has gone their own direction, in some way or another. She never sees Emma and the Handless Wonder, they’re busy raising their three daughters to be, unfortunately, _normal._ According to Snow, the Queen of Gossip, they’re currently working on a fourth, and while she can’t fathom the thought of having children with the pirate, she can’t fault the Savior for wanting to have a few spares because frankly, Regina is amazed Hook hasn’t managed to skewer one of the girls yet.

Like so many others, the Charmings themselves are now ruling their own little slice of heaven. According to Snow’s letters and occasional phone calls, they’ve been hyper focused on turning every inch of their lands into some sort of animal and environmental sanctuary, complete with singing bluebirds _and_ dancing daffodils, which is just so annoying that Regina can hardly stand to set foot in the girl’s kingdom without the overwhelming urge to _accidentally_ set fire to parts of it.

Henry is gone now too - _both_ Henrys - they have gone to seek their own adventures, to find their respective places in whatever realms might suit them best. She is immensely proud of them, of both of them in their own rights, even though it’s still strange to accept that there are two of them. She supposes it is similar to how there are _technically_ two of her, if you count the Evil Queen as a separate soul, but it’s still weird, and so most days, she doesn’t think about it. Instead, she focuses on her memories of the boy she raised, and she doesn’t let herself think about all the times and various ways that he was stolen from her.

Her son has always been independent, but now he is grown and gone for good, and while he would stubbornly argue with her about it (he has on more than one occasion), he does not need his mother to tend to him anymore. She’s not naive, she’s known this day would come since she first held him in her arms as a beautiful, babbling infant, but it’s been more difficult as of late. She made the mistake of expressing this feeling she had once, and Snow had dubbed it simply, _empty nest syndrome_ , but the interminable silence is more than that. It makes Henry's absence more obvious, _oppressive_ even; it makes it feel like a huge hole has been cut in her universe and all of the oxygen sucked out.

She would give just about anything for the interruptions she had once so casually taken for granted. She’d kill to be able to cringe at the sound of a rogue soccer ball bouncing against marble tile and the subsequent shattering of glass, can almost hear the echo of her reprimand - _No sports in the house, young man!_ She recalls the high-pitched, silly music of a video game drifting out from beneath a closed door and the ensuing argument - _No, you cannot play one more level, it’s well past your bedtime on a school night, mister_ \- and clearly remembers the thudding of footsteps flying much too quickly down the winding staircase, an exact match to the rapid beating of her nervous heart - _Slow down! Slow down! You’re going to break your neck!_

Gods, how she misses the raucous exuberance of a child.

She retreats to the mayoral mansion at night, though everyone thinks she stays at her castle. The castle is lovely and her chambers are more than adequate, but it’s not _home_. It isn’t where she raised her son; it isn’t where she fell in love with, and mourned the loss of her soulmate; it isn’t where she found the courage to blacken her pure heart, just so the Evil Queen might find happiness at last. No, the memories Regina has within the walls of her castle are at best depressing, and at worst, agonizingly painful. Regina tried to stay there the first few months of her reign and quickly found that it soured her mood, interrupted her sleep, and made her thoroughly miserable.

The only place she ever finds comfort is at the mansion, when she is surrounded by the familiar sights, smells, and memories of a future that no longer exists, for Henry is the only person she has left of that. But the memories are still sweet, if sad, and she would rather spend her nights curled into a ball, snug under the covers in Henry’s bed, dreaming of the family she _almost_ got to have, rather than be trapped within the walls of a castle she never wanted in the first place.

The only downfall to staying at the mansion is that there isn’t much to break up the endless quietude that blankets the place. There are no staff bustling about here, no cooks, or maids, or messengers chatting and moving from room to room as they go about their chores. She has a house phone and she still uses a cell phone but neither device rings very often. People try to respect her evenings as _personal time_ , but her friends are busy with their families, and she was never one for long, heart-to-heart conversations to start with. Henry rarely texts, and she doesn’t expect him to; she understands that he has a life of his own, knows he can’t keep in constant contact, however much she’d enjoy that. And she doesn’t much care for television, she tells people that it’s because she finds it stupid and boring, but in reality, it’s because too often it reminds her of _him,_ of _them_ , her boys, her Hoods.

Roland _loved_ cartoons. He obsessed over anything that had to do with animals, could watch the same movie on repeat for hours on end. She was _such_ a sucker for him - he could melt her stern exterior with one smile, one pout, one sweetly whispered, _Please, Majesty?_ which, when paired with his dark chestnut puppy-dog eyes and those deep dimples, never failed to persuade her to see things his way. From day one she shamelessly indulged him, allowed him to stare delightedly at the flashing colors and ridiculous antics of whatever video he wanted, clapping and falling into fits of giggles before he predictably wore himself out and drifted off to sleep. She used to hold him for hours and hours after he’d dozed off, used to drag out their time together for as long as she could get away with, her fingers brushing through his thick curls or rubbing along his tiny back, just enjoying the time spent in his company while he was nestled in the safety of her lap. Gods, how she misses that little boy, and she _hates_ that despite her many, _many_ efforts, she has never been able to relocate him, or those worthless, godforsaken Merry Men either.

Robin liked television too, but for other, much less innocent reasons. He enjoyed action films, was particularly interested in car chases and explosions, but mostly she knows he enjoyed the TV because it acted to muffle any _illicit_ activities they might entertain after the children were in bed, without causing her to use magic. He was never quite comfortable with her magic, never formed anything close to an affinity for it, though she knows he loved her and wasn’t afraid of her. But whenever there was an option that allowed her to avoid casting a spell, or using a charm, or a potion, or whatever else, Robin _always_ chose the non-magical option first, and she honestly didn’t mind. Everyone knows that magic has a cost, and she learned to appreciate his thoughtfulness at never asking her to pay it.

It has been years since he was murdered, but the pain of his death has _never_ faded. She tries to take it in stride, to bear his loss with honor instead of breaking under the strain of it, but it is such a heavy burden, and when she is alone so often like this, the weight of his absence wears on her. She misses him in a way that is similar, but somehow even more dreadfully painful than the way she misses Daniel. Her longing for Robin is like a python, coiling around her chest, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing until every bone in her body has been crushed, every breath pressed from her lungs.

Her dear Daniel was her first love, her _true_ love, but Robin, oh, he was _the one,_ he was her soulmate, her _person._ Even before they met, she knew that he was somewhere out there, thanks to Tinkerbelle, so there was always this little spark of hope, this thrumming in the furthest recesses of her blackened heart that whispered reassurances to her of _the man with the lion tattoo_. But ever since he was killed, the whispering has stopped, the spark has been snuffed, and her heart is as silent now as the house she occupies tonight.

So the TV is not an option. She supposes she could play some music, even considers calling up an opera, but she’s had a glass or two (three, actually), of pinot noir, and since she’s feeling particularly lonely this evening, she’s pretty sure some dramatic orchestral overtures and complex, soulful lyrics just aren’t what she needs.

So. Silence it is, then.

When she finally finishes off the bottle of wine she’s been nursing for the last few hours, she decides to call it a night. Heading into the kitchen to deposit her wine glass, she sighs heavily, resigning herself to yet another evening of solitude. She’s right back where she started, it seems, though she is the only one still frozen in time now. Everyone else has found both a will and a way to move forward, or, _gods_ , they’re simply dead. Her mother and father, Daniel and Robin, her dear Rocinante, hell, even Facilier. It’s a shame, she thinks, because she’s desperate enough for company that she might have given that a shot, actually. She certainly didn’t love him but they had an _interesting_ history and he would have been preferable to all these nights spent on her own.

Regina is halfway up the stairs on her way to bed, when there is a knock on the front door. She checks the time, it’s nearly midnight and she has no idea why anyone might come calling at this hour. She has no missed calls or texts, and she almost has herself convinced that she totally imagined the entire thing, when the knock comes again, this time a bit more insistent.

She shrugs and jogs back downstairs. Her magic is strong and practiced these days, and she is well-loved as the Good Queen, so there is little to fear. Without giving it a second thought, she crosses the foyer with long, confident strides, takes a firm grip on the wrought iron handle, and tugs the heavy oak door open.

Then she nearly faints with shock.

“Hello, Regina,” he smirks, leans one shoulder against the frame of the door and rakes his eyes slowly down the front of her. “You’re looking a bit peaky tonight, are you quite alright?”

“ _Jesus_ , Locksley,” she growls, _finally_ catching her breath. She knew when she opened the door that it wasn’t _him,_ it wasn’t Robin _Hood_ \- they don’t have the same energy at all, but knowing that it wasn’t him didn’t stop her heart from trying to climb right out of her chest and hurl itself at his feet anyway.

“Right on the second count, but not on the first,” he teases, flashing her a mischievous grin, his breathtaking dimples on full display. “Though it’s got a nice ring to it, _Jesus Locksley_. Maybe I’ll name my first born that - or mix it up, give it a soft J for a bit more flavor.”

Regina rolls her eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?” she grips the edge of the door with force, tries to calm her thundering pulse and ignore the way her gaze lingers on the bright blue of his eyes, the curve of his soft-looking lips. He is not _him,_ he even has a little gray around his temples now, but Locksley is still a beautiful man, he is still the figure that haunts her dreams, he is still the exact image she thinks of when she touches herself at night. _Focus, Regina, gods._ “Did _she_ send you?”

“Of course she did,” he shrugs. “But I must say, I expected a warmer welcome from _the Good Queen_ than freezing my ass on her porch all night.”

Regina fights a smile at his audacious attitude, then steps back and invites him in. There’s really no mistaking him for _her_ Robin; Locksley is every sharp edge that Marian and Roland smoothed out before Regina ever met _her_ Hood. Locksley is dark and twisted, he’s full of hell and completely unapologetic for it. She wonders how these last few years with Queenie have treated him, is curious to know how he has changed since romancing her counterpart, and whether or not the two of them have finally found a way to atone for a few of their less than admirable deeds, or if they have only managed to encourage each other’s penchant for trouble even more.

She sets him up with a drink - he asks for scotch, not whiskey - which brings her an odd sense of relief; every little difference reminds her not to slip into a fantasy, not to pretend he’s someone he is _not._

“So,” she drawls, sipping on her own glass of amber colored liquid. “What is it she wants from me? If she’s looking for a royal pardon, I’m afraid I can only do so much, depending on what sort of trouble she’s gotten into.” Counterpart or no, Regina is not a push-over, and she’ll not allow her darker half to run willy-nilly throughout the realms without regard for the consequences of her actions.

Locksley scoffs. “She doesn’t want anything from _you,_ ” he tips his head and studies her for a second, takes a sip of his drink, then adds, “She’s asked a favor of _me_ , actually.”

“Oh?”

“Mm,” he nods and leans his elbows on the countertop, spins his glass around haphazardly in a way that makes the expensive liquor slosh, makes her want to snatch it away from him for fear that he’s going to accidentally send it flying and break the beautiful crystal tumbler. He is _such_ a heathen.

“Care to share?”

He barks out a laugh, and it has her head tilting, eyebrows raised in confusion. “What?”

“It just so happens, that’s exactly what she’s asked of me,” his bright blue eyes hold hers in a challenge, and her stomach suddenly drops out, a hot flush rushes up her neck to color her cheeks.

She swallows thickly, licks her wine-stained lips and puts as much indignation into her voice as she can and asks, “ _Excuse me?_ ”

“My Queen is unhappy,” his voice is quiet, his expression switching to dead serious as he says this, and she’s not sure if he’s talking about her or the Evil Queen.

Gods, it’s hot in here, _really_ hot, _boiling_ , the room is practically a sauna. When did that happen?

She raises an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

Locksley nods.

She should probably argue with him, should at least make him clarify _which_ Queen he's referring to, but instead, she looks him straight in the eyes and says, "So?”

“So, to make a long story short, I’ve come to make her happy.”

“And what makes you think you’re capable of such a task?” she crosses her arms in front of her, remembering too late the light blue, nearly sheer silk night dress she’s wearing beneath her housecoat and resisting the urge to magic herself into something more presentable. She refuses to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s ruffled her, even if the gown is a bit too revealing, the neckline precariously low-cut, even for her.

“Oh, I’m more than adept at pleasing my Queen,” he flirts, smirking again, then biting his lip as his eyes travel over her curves. “I’ve had plenty of practice, milady, I’m quite confident that, given the chance, I can exceed whatever expectations have been set before me.”

Regina snorts and it’s not a pretty sound, but he’s too cocky for his own good. Besides, there’s no way he’d ever be able to outdo Robin Hood.

Not that she’s considering letting him try. That’s not, _gods,_ that’s not even an option, it’s not on the table, it isn’t even what they’re talking about.

Is it? _Fuck._

“How long has it been?” he asks, the timbre of his voice silky-smooth as he slides around the island to crowd her space.

“I-beg-your-pardon?!” she flushes red, can’t stop the embarrassment from taking over her elegant features.

“How long?” he takes a step toward her, and she takes one back. His gaze is positively _hungry_ as he scans her lips, the column of her neck, the curve of her clavicles and down further to her breasts, then murmurs, “Must be at least a few years now, yeah?”

She huffs out a very irritated breath and continues to retreat, mirroring his forward steps, until her back connects with the countertop, and he has her effectively boxed in.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

Locksley tilts his head, one side of his mouth quirked up in a barely concealed grin. “No?” he reaches up, twirls a lock of her long, onyx-colored hair between his fingers, tugs and plays with it for a moment before he meets her eyes and adds, “I’d wager it’s been six years or more since we last met, hasn’t it?”

_Oh_.

She instantly feels abashed, because _of course_ that’s what he meant - what else would he dare to inquire about? She’s being downright foolish, thinking he was asking her about… other things… _intimate_ things… inappropriate things… _Gods,_ she’s got to get herself together, and _fast._

She clears her throat, purses her lips and straightens her back as she looks up at him and tries to come off nonchalant, “Hm, something like that. I can’t quite recall.”

Locksley breaks into a huge smile, though, his eyes flashing, head ducking down as he steps even closer. From the victorious look he wears, it’s apparent he thinks he’s just won some sort of prize, just outwitted her in a debate, but she can’t figure out what that might be, or where she might’ve slipped up.

“It’s probably for the best that we get reacquainted then.”

She doesn’t know how he manages to drop his voice so low, or when the hell his hand moved to her waist, but his fingers are curling around her now, and gods, he’s so close that they’re practically toe-to-toe. He smells of forest - not like Hood did - not like earth and snowmelt and a hint of wild mint; no, he smells like wet leaves, cedar, and woodsmoke. It’s delicious and sinful, easy for her to close her eyes and inhale deep into her lungs. It doesn’t remind her of _her_ Robin at all, but it’s good, _so good_ \- it makes her ball her hands into fists to prevent herself from reaching for him and doing something stupid, like running her palms up the broad spanse of his chest, grabbing him by the lapels, and tugging his head down to her so she can see if he tastes as good as he smells.

“Just how do you propose we do that?” she counters, accidentally licking her thick lips, her breath catching when his eyes dart down to watch, and the hand he has on her waist slips up to her ribs.

He tucks her hair behind her ear - _oh gods, that’s her kryptonite -_ leans in and gives her a coy smile. “Perhaps it would please Her Majesty,” he rumbles, “if I were to give her a demonstration of some of the services I’ve been sent to provide?”

Regina’s pulse kicks into overdrive, her heart ricocheting around in her chest like a bullet against steel.

“A demonstration?” she repeats dumbly, rubbing her thumbs over her knuckles nervously, her hands still clenched tightly at her sides. Locksley raises an eyebrow and nods, so she continues, “And this is all _her_ idea, the Evil Queen? She sent you because she thinks I’m unhappy, she thinks _you_ can help me with that?”

She’s putting words in his mouth now, knows he hasn’t said any of those things, _not exactly_ , but her mind is racing and her skin is on fire and she is so pent up with this sudden _need_ to be touched that she feels like she might burst into flames at any second.

Locksley reaches for her hands and she lets him take them, allows him to slowly pull them up and wrap them around his neck. “My Queen feels that you are unsatisfied,” he says quietly, “She feels your restlessness, your uncertainty– ” Regina scowls and drops her gaze to the floor, but she immediately feels Locksley’s fingers beneath her chin, tipping her head back up so he can look deeply into her eyes, “and even… your loneliness.”

She anxiously twists her fingers in the collar of his soft white undershirt, fighting the urge to break eye contact first. This entire situation is far too intimate, makes her feel excessively vulnerable, but she doesn’t want to show him how weak she is, how easily he’s gotten to her.

He is practically a stranger but he’s just read her like an open book, when not even her closest friends have such an easy time understanding her. He is not _her_ Robin Hood but he is still a version of him, is still true and loyal, and she can almost see it, can certainly sense the way his energy swirls and mixes with hers so seamlessly.

“She has told me that your hearts, while physically separate, are still joined through magic, through _spirit,_ milady. Can you not feel it, too?”

She wants to tell him no. She wants to argue that she is perfectly happy, that she and the Evil Queen are completely separate people, that she wants nothing more than for him to get the hell out of her house and to never bother her with this nonsense again.

But none of that would be true, and she is so, very bored with lies.

“I can feel it,” she says hoarsely, then narrows her eyes in a clear challenge. “I know we’re still connected, I suppose we always will be - but that doesn’t explain why _you_ are here.”

Locksley’s gaze is serious when, without warning, he tugs her flush against him, his arm tight around her waist, his other hand rising to cup the side of her neck. He strokes his thumb softly across the hinge of her jaw, runs his brilliant blue eyes across her entire face, then focuses in on her eyes and says firmly, “I am here because I vowed to protect the heart of my Queen.” He slides his hand slowly down her neck, then boldly slips it beneath the neckline of her night dress to rest hotly on her chest. “I vowed to honor, to cherish, and to love; to ensure nothing but happiness befalls her, until the day I no longer draw breath.” He pauses to swirl his fingers softly over her, the calloused pads of his fingertips scratching lightly against her soft skin and causing her to shiver.

“I have been unknowingly neglecting my vow, milady,” he smiles softly, looks down and watches his hand for a moment as he rubs soothingly over her heart, and she follows his gaze, stares at the way his hand looks huge, spanning the width of her chest. “Because that heart not only belongs to _her_ ,” he moves his other hand from her waist up to cup Regina’s cheek, “but also to _you_.”

“But _my_ Robin –” she starts.

“ _Your_ Robin is dead,” he interrupts, and Regina’s chest _aches_ beneath his hand, her eyes sting with tears. “And it is tragic, and terrible, and _wrong._ But you need not be alone,” he presses his big, warm body against her, and her breath rushes out, her hands clutch at his shirt. “I already know that I love what’s in here,” he taps lightly on her chest, “If you will give _me_ a chance, you might just find that there's more to me than you first thought.”

She makes a terrible sound, some kind of hysterical sob-laugh, and brings a hand down to press over the top of his.

“Even if I… even if this was… somehow… possible… so what? I’m supposed to believe that she’s just going to give you to me?” Regina grits out, terrified of everything he’s just said, “I’m supposed to buy that the Evil Queen is going to hand you over as some sort of pity prize for her sad, pathetic counterpart? I wasn’t born yesterday, you know, she would never do that.”

“Of course not,” he presses harder into her, and it calms her, dammit. His touch is working against her temper, dousing it, just like _her_ Robin’s used to, and even though she knows it’s happening, she can’t seem to fight it. “She’s gone to find a way to either sever the connection completely, or to bind it back together,” he explains. “So for now, we've nothing to do but wait, and while we do, she’s proposed that we might as well see what happens, see if there's something between us, just in case it's the latter she accomplishes.”

Regina stares at him for a long moment, her head spinning as she tries to absorb the information, until Locksley takes a deep breath and bites his lower lip.

“You know what I think?” he speaks slowly, pauses to flex his fingers over her chest, drawing her attention from her emotional turmoil back to the way her body is betraying her, electricity sparking everywhere he’s touching her - her chest, her cheek, their thighs. "I think we should start with that demonstration. Let me show you a bit of what I can offer, and we'll just… see where that takes us, hm?”

The obvious answer is no. Regina can’t, mustn’t, _shouldn’t_ get entangled in such a twisted web that she is certain the Evil Queen has woven with a purpose other than what Locksley has told her. But she is so tired of the silence, of the solitude, of the complete standstill her life has come to, and Locksley is right here in front of her, offering to shatter the monotony like the steel hull of an icebreaker ship. And gods, she wants that, needs that - she feels like she’s been trapped inside a black box and she needs to be released before she goes insane from the isolation she’s been drowning in for the last five years.

It doesn’t hurt that he shares the image of the man she has constantly mourned since he was murdered in front of her, and while she knows the two of them aren’t at all the same, just looking at Locksley brings her comfort. He is unique but still, there is something about him that thaws her heart, something in him that she trusts, something that has her sucking in a quick, anticipatory breath and nodding her head before she has the sense to change her mind.

He leans in to kiss her, but she has a moment of panic where she grips the collar of his shirt tightly and ducks her head so their foreheads meet instead. Locksley is patient with her, carefully slides his hand from her chest up, up, up until both of his hands are framing her face, but he doesn’t try to direct her, doesn’t force her to lift her head. He just holds her, strokes his thumbs across her cheekbones and waits, their foreheads together, breaths mixing while she tries to calm the erratic slamming of her heartbeat.

She wants this, wants _him_ and she _knows_ she does, but she’s having a moment of uncertainty. What if she isn’t what _he_ wants? What if she doesn’t live up to _his_ expectations? She is absolutely not the Evil Queen, and she doubts they’re comparable in bed - she doesn’t even want to be compared to her counterpart when it comes to that, and now she feels awkward about it. _Gods._

Locksley shifts a little, breathes deeply then says something, but she doesn’t quite catch it because she’s lost in her own mixed up emotions, and she’s forced to ask him to repeat himself.

His voice is low and soft, sweet with just a hint of teasing as he says, “I asked if uh, if you knew you were a bit shorter than her.”

It’s such a preposterous thing to say that she automatically laughs, runs her hands along his collarbones and informs him, “That’s impossible. We’re identical.”

“Maybe at one time you were,” he drops his tone, nuzzles her nose with his and she lifts her chin - almost kisses him - but then he’s speaking again and she just barely resists. “But not anymore. You are absolutely your own person, Regina,” his lips ghost over hers, but he doesn’t press them to hers yet, he’s such a tease, _gods_ , her eyes flutter and she fights to reopen them. He moves his face to where her neck and shoulder meet, notes, “You even smell different,” in a rough whisper, breathes in deeply to accentuate his point, then draws his nose slowly up along her sensitive skin. Regina tips her head to the side as he goes, closes her eyes and curls her fingers into the linen of his tunic. “You move different,” he nudges under her chin with the bridge of his nose to get her to drop her head back, then strokes both of his hands down the length of her neck and back up. His lips find the pulse point on her neck and she gasps, then sighs out a heavy breath when he sucks on it. He flicks against her hot skin with his tongue, scrapes lightly with his teeth, and a high-pitched hum vibrates up from her throat - _fuck_ , he feels good. “You sound different.”

“You’re different too,” she rasps, tipping her head back up and licking her lips. She wants to taste him now, too. “I - _mm –_ ” she cuts off when he starts to trail kisses along the edge of her jaw, using his teeth to nip just a little, _oh that’s good_ , “You should know that if we do this, I have no intentions of pretending that you’re… _him,_ ” she reassures.

Locksley sucks another hot kiss just under her chin, then raises his head to meet her eyes. The _very_ cocky smirk he’s wearing makes her clench, makes her stomach plummet right to the floor.

“Oh, I’m not worried, darling,” his smirk widens into a grin. “If you give me a proper chance tonight, you won’t be in any sort of state to entertain the thought of _anyone_ else – my doppelganger or otherwise.”

She starts to roll her eyes, but he surges forward and - _mm! -_ then his lips are crashing against hers - hot and hungry, his tongue is thrusting deep into her mouth - _oh goddds_ \- and he is absolutely right, she can think of nothing but _him._

Regina loses her breath, her stomach flips, and she just _takes_ his kiss for a second before she joins in and kisses him back with fervor, gives him just as much heat and enthusiasm as he’s giving to her. It’s all open mouths, the rough scrape of teeth and the slick, quick slide of tongues, a little sloppy and a _lot_ rough. His hands thread into her hair and twist in the long, thick strands while hers fist in his shirt and jerk him closer to her. He presses his weight into her, the kitchen countertop bites into her back but she doesn’t care, not when he drags his mouth away and their lips _smack_ loudly with the sucking force of the separation, their harsh breaths echoing across the kitchen and her heart beating so vigorously it’s like a thunderstorm in her chest.

It only took a split second to break the silence, but in the aftermath, Regina feels more energetic than she has since another version of Robin slipped through her fingers. She surges to life beneath him, starts grabbing at their clothes before he can even begin to assist her - shedding her housecoat and ripping his tunic up and off, followed quickly by his under shirt.

He mutters a few amused curses as she goes, groans in approval when she unbuckles his belt, and he drops right to his knees when he gets a look at the risque extent of her nightdress. He turns the tables on her then, braces one strong arm firmly across her hips and gives her a little shove, pins her to the kitchen counter while he rucks her skirt up her thighs and goes right for her satin underwear, sweeps them off and then pulls her left leg up over his shoulder.

He isn’t Robin Hood.

Not at all.

Hood would be careful with her. He’d be gentle. He’d know it actually _has_ been a few years since she’s let anyone else touch her, he’d know that she doesn’t trust easily, that she’s tense, that she probably needs him to ease her into this. He’d comfort her, he’d lay her down, whisper how much he loves her, make her feel beautiful and pepper her with kisses before he slowly, _slowly_ made his move, just like the first time she did this with him.

But _he_ is _not_ Hood.

He crumples the skirt of her nightdress up all the way to her waist, and when the cool air hits her smooth, toned legs, she can feel her face flush with self-consciousness. She’s exposed in her kitchen with her leg hooked over his shoulder, on full display, and _fuck_ , from his viewpoint there’s no way he can’t see how aroused she is.

“Hold this up for me?” he half-commands, half-asks, staring _right at_ her slick core with hooded eyes, completely unashamed before flicking his gaze up to her face when she doesn’t respond.

He smirks when she just stares at him, then adds, “I intend to use both hands, love, so unless you’re wanting to be starkers already - which is fine by me, by the way - you’ll want to reach down and take ahold of this, yeah?”

She makes a grab for her skirt, but the movement is much too quick for it to be anything other than desperate. He snickers, the bastard, and she swears it's out of pure reflex that she cuffs him in the side of the head with her free hand. When he just laughs harder, she has another little flare of temper and surprises even herself when she reaches for his head, roughly twists her fingers through his silky-soft hair and tugs him toward her, bringing him in until she feels his hot breath against her slick center. She shivers under a shock of electric excitement that races through her, fingers flexing in his hair when her clit throbs from pure lustful anticipation, and she huffs out a shaking breath while she waits for him to make his move.

She doesn’t have to wait long.

The first thing he does is grab her underneath the thigh and shove the leg she’s got draped over him even higher, pushing up until her heel is digging into his back. She arches toward him with the movement, and he doesn’t disappoint – he brings his mouth right to her, fits it over her and runs his tongue deep through her folds – no hesitation, no tentative, careful exploration – no. He sucks, licks, and eats at her like he’s been doing it for years, makes these low hums in his throat like he’s enjoying the hell out of it too, pulling back only to catch a quick breath, then grabbing a firm, full handful of her ass and jerking her back to him so he can go at her again and again and _again_.

Within minutes Regina’s feeling a little frantic, to be honest, a little flustered. She’s never had things escalate so quickly with a lover – at least, not of her own choosing – and she feels like her body is short-circuiting. She’s overstimulated or overwhelmed or _something_ , because she’s completely out of control. Her nipples are aching, _so_ sensitive that the soft silk of her nightgown feels like a true caress, and she has to fight the urge to push the fabric down, knowing she shouldn’t expose her breasts for no reason. But gods, the way it’s brushing across her is divine, and she keeps arching her chest and writhing, trying to get more or less of it, she's not sure, but she's certain she looks completely unhinged. She can’t control the wanton roll of her hips either, or the death grip she has on Locksley’s hair; she can’t stop the moans and gasps that keep spilling from her lips – guiding him, telling him, _Yes,_ and _Like that,_ and _Faster, oh gods, faster, faster, don’t stop!_

He has a firm grip on her ass, his fingers kneading, squeezing, and she doesn’t bother to pay much attention to it until he slides his hand further back and starts skating his fingers along her rear. She jerks in surprise at his first touch, but he doesn’t try for more, just keeps at her, confidently runs the pads of his fingers up and down, up and down, and _Jesus_ , it feels _so good_. She hasn’t been touched like this, hasn’t trusted someone else to handle her this way since _her_ Robin, and _gods_ , she’s forgotten just how incredible it is to give the responsibility of her pleasure to someone else.

He tongues her clit relentlessly, uses his other hand to spread her open for him while he does it, and she drops her head back, revels in the glorious liquid heat between her thighs and surrenders to the steadily building pleasure. Every time she rocks her hips forward, she gets treated to the skillful sucking, rubbing, and flicking movements of his lips and tongue, and every time she shifts back she presses against the slick, sure strokes of his fingers as he runs them back and forth from her soaked cunt up to where he’s teasing her ass. She’s starting to burn for him inside, wants to feel him filling her even as she feels herself hurtling toward the edge from what he’s already doing. He’s talented with his mouth, is more than capable of getting her there, but she wants more, wants desperately to feel how he might stretch her - whether that’s with his fingers or his cock or some blessed combination she doesn’t really care, but she’s going to come soon, and she knows damn well that she wants him inside of her when it happens.

“Inside,” she directs breathlessly, “I want, _mm-fuck_ , want more.”

He’s blissfully quick to respond - slips two fingers into her with absolutely no resistance, curls them and starts working her at such a rigorous pace that she has to grab for the counter with both hands to stay upright when her leg suddenly gives out. Her breaths are coming too fast, she’s gasping with every inhale, her chest expanding and contracting almost painfully, her brow furrowed tightly and eyes locked on the man on his knees before her. She is so glad he showed up at her door tonight; she’d forgotten what she’d been missing but now that she remembers, she is infinitely grateful to have him be the one to remind her. He wasn’t exaggerating his skills either - he’s one of the few men she’s had who actually knows enough to pay attention to what she likes instead of just generalizing his moves. All it takes is for her to make the slightest sound of approval when he gets it _just right_ for him to invent a pattern that drives her out of her mind, and in seconds he has her throbbing and moaning, nearly breaking the countertop with how hard she grips it. She spirals up rapidly, heat coiling in her groin and a flush rising up her chest, her nipples peaked and overly sensitive. She gives up and lets her body do what it wants - writhes lustfully against his mouth and rides his fingers while she hoarsely begs him for _More, more, please-don’t-stop!_ until almost violently, she trembles apart. Her back and neck arch sharply, her hips buck and inner muscles clench on his thrusting fingers while he drags her climax on and on, not stopping until she regains control of one hand and weakly pushes at his head, managing to gasp out a desperate, “ _Enough, oh, oh-gods! Enough._ ”

Locksley draws back from her slowly, laves the broad, flat stroke of his tongue through her sex - _gods -_ for a few careful swipes before he starts pressing kisses to the soft curves of her stomach and thighs. He’s patient - which she is _ungodly_ appreciative of - his hands slide soothingly over her hips and ass, his movements sure and unrushed, allowing her to come down without the pressure of returning the favor just yet. Only after she has caught her breath, the ringing in her ears has receded, and she nods that she’s doing, _Alright then?_ does he bring her leg down from his shoulder and start to shift up from his knees, but his hands never leave her. Instead, as he stands, he brings her with him, grips her by the backs of the thighs and helps her to wrap her legs around his waist, coaxing her, “Up you come, now.” Regina takes his cue to twine her arms around his muscular shoulders and moves until she is fully settled in his embrace, and when he asks her, “Living room or bedroom?” she goes all in, buries her face against the thick cord of his neck and instructs that he take her to bed, citing that she _is_ a Queen, for god’s sake.


	2. Chapter 2

It took one week for Locksley to really get to her, for him to break through the barriers she erected to safeguard her heart for all these years, for him to experience the _real_ heart of the Good Queen.

One. Measly. Week.

Mother would’ve been so disappointed in her, wouldn’t have hesitated to tell her what a failure she is, what a fool; that she is _pathetic_ for allowing her stupid heart to get the better of her yet _again_ , and she would’ve reminded her that this will only end in pain. Oh yes, Mother would’ve properly castigated her, would’ve told her that she should be ashamed of herself, and under normal circumstances, Regina honestly would be. She would be totally humiliated by the ease with which he’s been able to get under her skin, the way he’s been able to hurtle right past her defenses, but… it’s not like anyone is around to witness what has been happening. It’s not like anyone is here to see them exchange coy smiles, or to see her flirt with him, to see her go weak in the knees and get just a little bit starry-eyed when he compliments her, or listens to her, or kisses her like he really, truly _means it_. So she just doesn’t see much point in putting herself through the ringer when no one else seems to have the time to hold her accountable, or really, no one even seems to _notice_ what’s going on.

It’s easy to fall into a routine with him. She comes home late most nights, is often tired and irritable from an entire day spent in meetings that drone on forever about things she swears she cares about but which don’t actually require much of her input. Each kingdom has its own ruler, and she’s in attendance purely for continuity’s sake, to ensure the realm as a whole maintains peace and on rare occasions, to act as the final say in the case of a tie vote. He makes it almost worth it now, though.

He’s not living with her, not exactly, but he’s there in the evenings when she gets home, and she hasn’t even entertained the thought of any other arrangement. It would be impossible to keep him out without using magic anyway - the man can pick _any_ lock - and besides, she’s starting to enjoy the way he spoils her. It doesn’t matter what time she gets home, he always has dinner waiting for her, simmering on the stove or baking in the oven - one time she even caught him roasting a pheasant over an open flame in her fireplace, which she just couldn’t find the heart to be angry about. Where the hell he learned to cook she has no idea, but he’s rather good at it for an outlaw. He caught on how to use her modern appliances quickly, and even though she’s offered to grocery shop, to share the cooking or to even get take out once in a while, he’s been adamant that he’s got this, that he wants to do this for her. He insists that he enjoys spending his days harvesting game and gathering fresh ingredients from the surrounding forest, that it tastes better than anything bought in the store, and that she needn’t worry about sharing the responsibilities, because it gives him a purpose to his day while he waits for her to return to him.

Every evening is spent together in much the same way. They eat dinner, then Regina retreats to a hot bath while he cleans up the kitchen, and when she’s done, if she’s feeling up to it (she almost always is), she rejoins him in the den for a glass of wine or something a bit stronger. Often they talk late into the night, telling stories about their lives, their friends and families; she’s spent hours upon hours telling him all about Henry and Roland, of Rocinante, of Maleficent and Daniel, and even _her_ Robin. He’s told her of those he’s lost, of his friends and his life before they met (the first time) and his time with the Evil Queen - of their happiness together and their struggles.

There are nights that they don’t talk at all, of course. There are evenings that she can barely make it through the front door before he’s pressing her up against it, rucking up her skirt, shoving her underwear to the side and sliding in deep while her head knocks back against the solid oak. There are times that she’s on her way upstairs to change when he grabs her by the hips and tugs her down onto the large, winding staircase and takes her from behind - her moans jumping octaves with every thrust, her knees rubbing raw, nails scratching into the hardwood - until she nearly blacks out from the pleasure of it. There are entire nights she just poofs them directly into her bed, where they spend endless amounts of time learning each other’s bodies, laughing and playing and making up ridiculous challenges like, _who can come the most times_ , and _who can make the other come first_ , and _how many different ways they can make each other come in one night._

Ridiculous, all of it.

But so-fucking-satisfying.

When it’s been four months of this and things continue to go blissfully well, Regina is finally forced to admit that she likes him. A lot. He may very well be an infamous outlaw with a less than reputable history, but he has shown her nothing but honesty and respect throughout their relationship. He’s thoughtful and intelligent, her Locksley, he is patient and perhaps most surprising, rather amusing. He gets annoyed by all of the obnoxious, goody-two-shoed things that she does, and he has a dark sense of humor that never fails to make her laugh. He likes to tease her, but not in a mean way - he pulls silly pranks, likes to steal unimportant items of hers (her underwear, mostly) and hide them in obvious places where she finds them almost as quickly as she’s noticed she’s lost them, (though hanging her bright red g-string on the chandelier was a close call when the mail carrier came to the house the other day and she didn’t see the thong until she nearly had the door all the way open). Locksley likes to pop out of places and startle her just for the hell of it, too, even knowing she has magic and has threatened to turn him into a lizard at least a dozen times. His response is always the same, _Oh, can I be a newt? I think I’d look rather good as one, I’ve got the eyes for it, don’t you agree?_ She thinks he’s probably somewhat insane, but at least he never makes her feel ill-at-ease for using her magic; in fact, he shows absolutely no fear or aversion to it, never even flinches when her tell-tale purple smoke appears, and honestly, it’s one of the few times in her life she’s felt truly comfortable in her own skin.

He’s smart, snarky, and sweet; and he doesn’t treat her like she’s a useless relic. He doesn’t treat her like she’s a bomb waiting to go off, either, or like her life is over just because her son is grown and her soulmate is dead. He’s broken the silence that she was entombed in - inside of her head, inside of her _heart_ , and where the thought of the Evil Queen attempting to re-bind their hearts once made her _very_ nervous, the idea of her counterpart permanently severing the connection now makes her exceptionally apprehensive _._ She’s starting to enjoy having him around, starting to like the way it feels to come home to a house that isn’t empty - not only because he has food waiting on the table, but because she truly enjoys his company. She looks forward to spending her nights with him too - _all_ night - not just the parts that have her biting her pillow to keep from calling out his name.

As it so happens, they’re naked in bed together late one Friday evening after dinner, and she’s working her way down his body, pressing hot kisses against his abs, her fingers trailing the lines of his muscles, her body sliding sensually against his as she slowly inches her way lower and lower, when a faint sound draws her attention. She could _swear_ it’s the sound of a door closing somewhere downstairs, and she pauses, lifts her head and asks him, “Did you hear that?”

Locksley grins, runs his hand through her thick, jet black hair, brushes it back off her forehead and threads his fingers into the strands at her temple, then asks, “The sound of your gorgeous lips sucking my cock? Not yet, darling, but fuck-am-I-ever looking forward to it.”

Regina rolls her eyes and goes back to the task at hand, intent on doing exactly what he just said, all in good time. She’s planning on torturing him a bit first, though, he’s _much_ too smug and there is nothing she likes more than making him so desperate with need that when she finally gives in, he’s nearly a gentleman with how gracious he is for the relief. She’s running her tongue along the line of his obliques, her long hair draped over one shoulder, fingers scratching lightly up his thighs as she draws closer and closer to where he’s hard and clearly ready for her, when she hears the sound of feet pounding quickly up the staircase, and panic flashes through her.

She knows those footsteps.

_Oh gods._

It’s Henry.

She scrambles out of bed so fast that the sheets catch her ankle, which in turn causes her to hop awkwardly on one foot while she tries to catch her balance, and she just barely manages to save herself from falling on her ass by using a little flare of magic at the last second. Then, before he knows what’s hit him, she’s dragging Locksley across the room, his wrist caught in her vice-like grip, harshly shushing him when he starts to ask her just what the hell’s going on. There is no time - _fuck! no time!_ \- to explain, the footsteps are getting closer and it’s only seconds now before they might be interrupted, and all she can think is, _Oh gods, please let Henry knock first, please, please let him remember his manners_. She has no idea how to explain this to her son, has no clue where to even start, and _shit_ , she’s terrified of his reaction. A dozen emotions wash through her, each more worrisome than the last, and as she pulls Locksley into her large walk-in closet and closes the door behind them, she prays he has the sense not to do something stupid before she figures out how to handle this.

She poofs herself into a set of navy blue, satin pajamas and grabs her housecoat just as a knock at the bedroom door sounds. She hesitates, then makes to leave the closet, but changes her mind at the last second and turns sharply, nearly ramming right into Locksley, who is directly behind her.

“What’re you doing? You have to stay here,” she frantically whispers.

“But–”

“Please I just, I need to… I don’t… You see, I haven’t…” She suddenly can’t find the courage to finish her sentence, doesn’t know how to tell him what she just assumed he knew, so she starts acting like she’s retying the knot on her robe - Mother would be _so annoyed,_ she always hated it when she fidgets - and waits for the realization to dawn on him. Gods, she is an absolute bitch.

Locksley watches her carefully for a moment, then mutters, “He doesn’t know.”

She guiltily nods her affirmation, and when she continues to cringe, struggling to meet his eyes, his expression turns sour and he adds, “ _No one_ knows?”

She lays her palm flat against her forehead in utter dismay - _fuck,_ she’s an idiot - and tries to calm the racing of her heart, tries to shove down the sick feeling that’s started churning in her stomach. Locksley runs his fingers through his hair and looks heavenward, but it’s not an eyeroll, it’s more like he’s seeking guidance from above. She wants to say something, _anything_ to make this better, wants to talk about _why_ she hasn’t told anyone about their, er, _relationship_ , but then Henry is calling for her through the bedroom door, “Mom? Are you in there?” and she doesn’t have time to stand here and have this discussion. She has to respond to her son or things are bound to get more awkward than they already are, if that’s even possible.

“I um, I’m sorry,” she rushes out quietly, reaching to comfort him, but he takes a step back from her and a pang of dread slices through her chest. Locksley shakes his head _no_ , hurt reflecting in his expression, then he drops his eyes and pulls even further away, and she doesn’t know what to do. Panic is swirling inside of her, her throat feels tight, her eyes burn with unshed tears of frustration, and there just isn’t enough time to tell him all the things she needs to. So she uses her son as a scapegoat to get her out of the situation entirely - points out how Henry will be suspicious of what is taking her so long, and starts babbling about how she isn’t prepared - how she never _asked_ \- for any of this, then turns like a damned coward and leaves him standing in her closet.

Gods, what a mess she’s made.

_Typical_ , her mother’s voice says. _How very predictable._

She manages to plaster a smile on her face just as she throws open her bedroom door to greet her son, and she camouflages the rest of her discomfort by wrapping him up in a tight hug. He’s come to spend a few days with her since apparently it’s Christmas, which she had mostly forgotten about.

Christmas isn’t a holiday she typically pays much attention to now that Henry is grown, and frankly, she’s quite surprised that he intends on staying with _her_. Usually he prefers the festive energy and general chaos of the Swan residence for the holiday season, loves spending as much time as possible with his half-sisters, and though she misses their traditions and the little things they used to do as just the two of them, Regina can’t really blame him when she doesn’t even have a Christmas tree.

It’s not like she gets left out - the Good Queen is always invited to the Charming’s for Christmas day, and she typically attends. Snow throws a lovely dinner party, but _gods_ , it’s all just so… annoyingly _heartfelt._ It’s not like she _hates_ Christmas - she doesn’t mind the decorations, the music, or even the holiday themed food. It’s just that the entire event is filled to the brim with confessions of everyone’s hopes and dreams for the future, and there’s this unrelenting sappy contentedness in the air as they all reiterate how grateful they are to have their loved ones tucked in safely around them. The whole thing tends to leave her feeling rather sad, and if she’s being _really_ honest - a bit jealous. It is an unintentionally cruel reminder that _her_ most dearly loved ones (except for her son) are at best, missing, and at worst, dead. The fact that many of the people she is surrounded by at the party can be considered, at least in part, at fault for the absence of Regina’s loved ones, only ever manages to add fuel to the fire.

When she listens to them talk about how lucky, how happy and how thankful they are to be together, she sometimes feels as if the gods are laughing at her, as if this is some cruel joke or perhaps a punishment for her heinous sins. She knows that she is supposed to be looking to the future, not dwelling on the past, but she can’t figure out how the hell she will ever be considered _redeemed_ when she feels like she’s been sentenced to this solitary existence as a form of continual chastisement for her former evil ways. And each year, the repercussions of her actions are never made more apparent to her than when she sits, miserable and alone, at that damned Christmas dinner party.

Henry is obviously excited to be home, though, and _that_ always manages to make her heart flutter with warmth, never fails to bring a real smile to her face. He chatters animatedly about his plans to drag her over to the Charming’s the next day while she does her best to nonchalantly direct him out of her bedroom, praying he doesn’t notice the dressed down state of her bed and desperately trying to recall if there might be anything incriminating in plain sight (she _cannot_ for the life of her remember if she put that toy away, or just where the hell the bottle of lube might be at the moment, _Jesus_ ). He goes willingly, thank the heavens, and she gets him set up with a sandwich in the kitchen, promising that they can talk more about attending the Charming’s Christmas party tomorrow morning, when her “headache” is hopefully better.

Regina knows she shouldn’t lie to Henry and she doesn’t make a habit of it, but she has quite the juggling act going now, and she’s nervous about how she left things with Locksley. She’s hurt him with this, and if his temper is anything like Hood’s, he’s probably already gone. Her Robin used to do that when he was particularly upset; he would head off into the forest to seek solace before they could continue their conversation, citing that the fresh air helped to clear his head and calm his thoughts, and while she always tried to be understanding of his needs, waiting for him to return used to twist her into knots of horrendous anxiety. There was always the chance that he might not return, that he’d throw in the towel and say _to hell with her_ , take his son and fade into the forest, never to be seen or heard from again, and it used to frighten her terribly. She never told him that, of course, it would’ve been unfair to strip him of such a simple coping mechanism when he was so understanding of the thousands of strange habits she had developed over the years just to get through the day. But that didn’t stop the fact that on the rare occasion they saw fit to argue, from the moment he turned to leave until the second he returned to her, Regina lived in sheer terror of losing him.

She pads back upstairs to her bedroom as quickly as possible, dreading the silence she is sure will greet her. She’s going to break down the second she’s inside - she’s certain she will - she can already feel the lump in her throat, the hot sting of tears, the constriction in her chest that’s taunting her about her failure. She makes it to her room on shaking legs and hurriedly shuts the door behind her, then at least has enough sense to take a few precautions to prevent Henry from witnessing something he shouldn’t. She throws a little magic at her door to ensure he can’t accidentally walk in on her, then casts a silencing spell in case she can’t hold back the emotion that is already wracking through her chest.

When she raises her head to survey the room, she sees, just as she thought it would be, that it is empty.

She slumps against the door, knocks her head back against it in frustration and lets out the sob she’s been holding in. Her hands flare with swirls of purple magic but she resists the urge to destroy, knows that fucking up her bedroom will do nothing to help, regardless of how good it might feel right now.

“Have I done something to upset you, darling?” her eyes snap open, her heart pounds fiercely, and for a moment, she can’t breathe.

Locksley is leaning one shoulder against the doorframe of her walk-in closet, his eyes weary, his hair a little mussed, and he’s wearing just a pair of gray pajama pants slung low across his hips. Her attention is involuntarily drawn to the bulky muscle of his chest and arms, the lean lines of his abs and how they disappear beneath the black waistband of his pants, and he looks, _gods_ , he looks like her saving grace, and she just stares and stares, certain she’s hallucinating.

“You’re here,” she manages to whisper after several long seconds of silence.

He cocks his head to the side, furrows his brow and says more firmly than she expects, “Of course I am. We’ve much to discuss, and I’m not going anywhere until we’re sorted out. Alright?”

She nods, fighting tears for an entirely different reason, now.

He is _not_ Hood, and while she has respected the difference before, has even appreciated it, Regina has never been grateful for it.

Not until now.

And that can only mean, _gods_ , that she just might be in love with him, too - with Robin of Locksley, the _other_ man with the lion tattoo.

Guilt consumes her. This is such a betrayal. A desecration of Robin Hood’s memory.

As if it isn’t bad enough that she’s already fallen in love _again._ One would think that she would have learned her lesson by how the first two times turned out, but oh no, she has the nerve to go and fall head over high-heels once again, and not just for anyone - for _this_ man.

Robin of Locksley.

Oh, and _by the way,_ he isn’t even available, not really, because outside of this secret bubble they’re currently living in, he’s actually devoted to the Evil Queen, who, as far as anyone knows, may have already found a way to permanently sever the connection between their hearts. Any second now, Queenie might just snap her fingers, or flick her wrists, or wave her wand, or _whatever,_ and that could be it - Regina could suddenly be totally independent of her counterpart. And that would be _so_ fitting, wouldn’t it? Because she’s just fallen in love with Robin-stupid-Locksley, who she already knows _loves her heart_ , so if (or more likely, _when_ ) she loses her connection with the Evil Queen, _of course_ she’s going to lose him, too.

Just like she lost her other Robin.

Just like she lost Daniel.

He coaxes her into bed - gets her to lay so she’s facing him, her hands held in his and tucked up between them, their fingers threaded tightly, their legs intertwined - with her thick white comforter pulled up over them, which somehow makes her feel a little more safe, a little more secure. How he knows that this is what she needs, she has no idea, but it helps to relax her, tamps down the turmoil that’s swirling inside of her.

“I can see your distress, you know,” he informs her quietly, “it flickers in your eyes like starlight.”

Regina doesn’t bother to deny it, she simply stares back at him, enraptured for the millionth time by the brilliant bright blue of his irises. She will always be astounded by his inexhaustible patience with her.

“If you’d prefer to take some time before we talk about… _us,_ I can–” he bites his lip and corrects, “-- _I will_ wait for however long you need. The last thing I want is for you to feel pressured.”

It’s tempting to accept his offer and put this off, and she very nearly does. But then she thinks about how Queenie could take this away at any second, about how miserable, how _lonesome_ she’s going to be when he’s gone, and she decides it’s better to have this now than to give it up early. She’ll pay the price later, just like every other time she has gambled with her heart and lost it all.

“No, I owe you an apology,” she starts, “I’ve been keeping you, _us_ , a secret, and that’s not fair to you.”

“To you, either,” he observes, and she frowns, seeing his point but much more concerned about his feelings in this. She saw the way she hurt him before she went downstairs with Henry, and she wants to make things right.

“I don’t feel pressured,” she scrunches her forehead, “And it’s not like I’m embarrassed of us,” she tries to explain, “or even that I don’t want people to know, I’m just…” he doesn’t interrupt, so she gathers her courage and finishes, “I suppose that I’m afraid that people won’t understand. That they’re going to make the wrong assumptions about my motivations, and I’m just not ready to be seen as a villain again, I’ve worked so hard to –”

“Can I ask you something?” he cuts her off, and normally it would annoy her, but she’s slightly relieved he’s stopped her babbling before she’s made too much of a fool of herself.

She manages to smirk, “You just did.”

He nudges her with their interlocked legs and gives her a little grin in return, drops his chin and amends, “Alright, I’ll just go on and tell you what I think then, and whenever you feel the need to, you can jump in and set me straight.” His words are teasing, but his eyes hold just enough seriousness that she finds herself nodding her agreement.

“You enjoy my company.”

She cocks an eyebrow and says _yes_ without even needing to think about it. She most definitely takes pleasure from spending time with him.

“And you approve of the way I look after you.”

She bites her bottom lip, pretends like she’s thinking it over, then caves and gives him a nod. He takes _very_ good care of her, in more ways than one, and they both know it.

Locksley watches her intently for a moment. “When we’re together… you’re happy - or rather, you’re closer to it than you’ve been for quite some time. ”

She licks her thick lips, takes a beat to really think about it, to make sure she’s being totally honest before she quietly admits, “Yes.”

“Me too,” he adjusts their hands so he can bring hers up, and proceeds to kiss the backs of them. “And I don’t necessarily want things to change, but I know that we can’t stay in your house forever,” he reasons, “and sooner or later, someone is going to find out. Someone always does.”

She takes a deep breath and has to agree. It’s better if they do this on their terms, that they’re not forced into it by happenstance.

“They’re all going to judge me for it,” she closes her eyes and envisions the confused look of shock on Henry’s face, the pitying scrutiny she’s sure to draw from Snow, the guilty glances she will receive from both Zelena and Emma, and the disapproval that Charming will try to hide, but will never quite be capable of.

This is going to suck.

“Yeah, they are,” Robin agrees, “But there’s not a single one of their stories that’s without a few twists and turns along the way, now is there?”

She ducks her head and huffs out a sigh of relief, because he’s right, and it feels like an anvil has just been lifted off of her chest.

“No, they’re pretty twisted too,” she raises an eyebrow, “though not as much as me.”

He leans forward and kisses her once, twice, then bumps the tip of her nose with his and says, “I happen to like your twists.”

She blushes at his compliment and feels shy in that way that only two others have ever made her feel - as if she is young, and precious and _much_ more innocent than she really is.

“I swear, when you look at me like that,” he rasps, “I feel like I’m seventeen and trying like hell to impress the King’s daughter.”

She laughs quietly - what an absurd thing to say - and teases him, “I can’t even imagine what sort of things a scoundrel like you might do to try to impress a princess.”

When he grins, it lights up his entire face, and her stomach flips at how handsome he is. Robin is clearly not a teenager - not with those silver strands threading through his thick blonde hair, or the deepening laugh lines bracketing his mouth and crinkling at his eyes - no, he’s all grown up, and he’s _gorgeous._

“Well for starters, I’d nick something of hers,” he tells her, his tone playful, “Something small, something she’d notice straight away but wouldn’t be too upset to find missing, and then I’d deliver it back to her, to show my good faith.”

“Oh, how very clever,” Regina purses her lips and smiles, thinking about all the times his penchant for thievery caused her to play ‘find the missing underwear.’ “And what if she didn’t fall for that?”

“Then I’d do something proper nice,” he starts to play with their fingers, begins threading and unthreading his larger, thicker fingers through hers, his eyes dropping to watch their hands for a moment before he continues. “I might make her a decent meal, for example.”

Her smile grows, as does the heat in her cheeks, because for _weeks_ he’s been doing exactly that - he’s been taking care of her every single evening when she gets home. He’s made dinners and run candlelit baths, poured her wine and rubbed her back, has spent hours playing chess and discussing art and literature with her, not to mention all the times he’s fucked her six ways to Sunday. He’s been nothing but incredible, and she’s an idiot, because she didn’t even realize he was actively trying, _and succeeding_ , at wooing her.

She’s not ready to admit that he has thoroughly trounced her in this little game of love, though, and she wonders what else she’s been oblivious to, so with a coy smile, she asks, “And what if _that_ didn’t quite get her attention?”

Robin snickers and lets go of her hands in favor of taking a firm hold on her waist, and he tugs her flush up against him.

“Well, I suppose I’d just have to tell her how I feel about her then, wouldn’t I?”

Oh gods, she walked right into that one, didn’t she? She just _had_ to push, had to take the game a little too far. Shit.

“Well, I mean… that’s not… um, you don’t have to,” she backpedals.

“What if I want to?” he asks carefully, searching her eyes. When she doesn’t say anything - doesn’t stop him - he continues, “What if I want to tell her that I love her simply for being _her_ , for being the brilliant, audacious, _individual_ that she is? That I don’t care about what brought us together to start with, or what might happen, or what people may think. What if I told her that I love her anyway?” Robin’s hands swirl calming circles on her lower back. “Do you think that might be alright?”

She kisses him, softly at first, but it quickly builds, until she’s pressing her lips firmly to his with fierce devotion, with a fire in her soul that she has no desire to douse. He’s wonderful, this man, he is good, and true, and _uniquely him_ , and she wants to tell him, to show him that she cares about him, too.

“Yes,” she says, when she finally pulls back from their kiss. “Yes, of course it’s alright, Robin,” she kisses him again, strokes her fingers across his scruffy cheek and curls them around the side of his neck. “I have feelings for you, too,” she tries, cringes, and pushes herself to do better. “I feel, uh… affection for you,” she clears her throat, squeezes her eyes shut tight - _why is this so damned difficult for her to say?_ \- “I’m in,” she licks her lips, “I think I’m falling, _have_ fallen…” She presses her forehead to his and huffs in frustration, mutters, “I’m sorry,” _Gods,_ this is humiliating.

Why can’t she just say it? Everyone else can say it - they say it _all the time_. It’s just three words, three stupid little words, and she _knows_ how she feels, knows that she _wants_ to say them, but the words just won’t cooperate. She wimped out and never told her _other_ Robin those words - though she knows he knew, and they had their own ways of saying it, of expressing it - but dammit, she wants this _so badly,_ and with the way this is going, she’s never going to be able to tell Locksley that she loves him, either.

“Darling,” he kisses the tip of her nose, and it tempers her frustration a little, “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because I want to say it,” she pouts.

He smiles softly and tucks her into his chest, rests his chin on top of her head. “You will,” he reassures her, “When you’re good and ready.”

“I _am_ ready,” she argues, but she snuggles her face in against him, a direct contrast to her obstinate tone.

Robin chuckles and strokes a hand through her long hair, soothing and lulling her for a few moments before he says, “I believe you. But in the meantime, you’ve no need to apologize. We’re in no rush and whether you can say the words or not doesn’t really matter, your actions speak for themselves.”

Her voice is nearly a whisper when she nervously asks him, “What do my actions say?” and he wears the most sincere expression she has ever witnessed from him when he simply replies, “That I’m the luckiest bloke in all the realms.”

Her heart lurches and she wraps her arms around him, holding him just as tightly as he’s holding her. She presses slow, sweet kisses to his chest, trying to express some of what she couldn’t say, and he seems to understand because he simply holds her, combing his fingers through her hair, while she reels from the shock of being allowed to experience this moment with him.

He loves her; she may not have been able to say it, but she loves him and he knows it, and for now, it is enough.


	3. Chapter 3

They told Regina’s family about their relationship just after the new year, and it had gone over about as well as she expected. Henry’s reaction had been the hardest for her, because he is still young with very little relationship experience, and he didn’t understand. He was convinced that she was trying to replace the man she lost and had spent almost an hour arguing with her about how she just missed Robin Hood. Regina had done her best to be patient, she had reasoned with him and tried several ways of explaining it, but he just didn’t get it, and she knows her boy - she will have to wait for him to figure it out on his own before he will accept it. She just hopes it doesn’t take very long, because even though she knows he loves her, she _hates_ the confused looks he gives her when they’re together, and he’s been texting her even less than usual lately.

Emma, Hook, and Charming all thoroughly disapproved of her choice, and that wasn’t surprising at all. She had hoped for a bit more sympathy, more understanding from Emma, though. One would’ve thought that the woman who put Regina through hell with the Robin-Zelena-Marian debacle might at least have given her the benefit of the doubt, but the blonde was being as stubbornly condescending as her idiot father was, and Regina had neither the tolerance nor the interest to change her mind. In fact, she was certain that the three of them would never understand, and how could they? They had _everything_ \- they had their true loves, beautiful children, peaceful kingdoms, parents who loved them - they were living perfect lives now, and they had never lost, had never suffered, not like Regina had. When everything around them was blissfully flawless, it really wasn’t their fault that they expected perfection from her, too.

Her half-sister did her best to understand, though Zelena was obviously concerned over what would happen to the Good Queen should the Evil Queen sever, or perhaps worse, completely unalter their lingering bond instead of re-combining it. Regina found it nice of her sister to care, to have someone to bounce ideas off, and they had spent some time discussing it, had gone over possibilities and options and what it all might mean. In the end, though, it simply came down to hearts and whether or not they’d be broken, and Regina couldn’t help but find it ironic how even the most complex of her problems always seems to boil down to whether love would sink or save her.

It was Snow White’s reaction that was perhaps the most surprising, for when she had been told of the Good Queen’s relationship with _this_ Robin of Locksley, the younger woman had become, well, rather angry. Not at Regina, and not even at Locksley - no, Snow took it upon herself to be livid with everyone who decided to judge her step-mother for opening her heart to love after being robbed of it so many times. Snow immediately became their number one supporter and could often be heard campaigning for Regina’s right to be with this version of Robin. She got upset with other family members when they shared any opinion that was less than enthusiastic, and proceeded to scold them about how for _years_ they have been flaunting their happy endings in the Queen’s face. Snow reminded them that _she_ was responsible for Daniel’s death, and that they _all_ failed at saving Robin Hood. Then she thoroughly lectured each and every one of them about how they had all been paying so much attention to their own lives that no one had even noticed Regina’s loneliness, so _how dare they_ try to belittle her now that someone made her a priority, especially when that someone made her feel truly loved _._

Regina may not have always seen eye to eye with her step-daughter, but when it came to family members, the girl was ranking quite high on her list as of late.

It’s the fourteenth of February, and Regina is in the office of her castle, just finishing up for the day. She’s tired, the cogs in her mind are still turning around the proposal that was brought to her regarding the necessary building updates for Storybrooke Elementary, but she’s excited to get home to her Robin, who she is certain has a nice meal planned for the evening. He may be a scoundrel in the streets _and_ between the sheets, but at the dinner table at least, he's a gentleman. She smiles at the thought, signs off on one last annual report and turns to leave, when she feels a familiar rush of magic, and she instantly knows.

_She’s_ here.

“You know, six months is quite a long time,” she says nonchalantly, “I was almost starting to worry about you.”

From behind her there is a low, amused laugh, and when Regina turns, sure enough, the Evil Queen is kicked back in her office chair, with her boots propped up on her desk.

“You’re a terrible liar, Regina,” her doppleganger smirks, “Good thing you leave all the unsavory business to me these days.”

Regina rolls her eyes and moves to sit in one of the chairs on the other side of her desk. Her heart is hammering wildly in anticipation, and she hopes Queenie won’t drag this out, won’t try to make a game out of something so insanely important.

“You want to talk about unsavory?” she asks, “Try sitting through a four-hour budget meeting with David.”

Queenie curls her upper lip in disgust. “No, thank you, I have more important things to do with my time than watch a shepherd pretend like he can add.”

Regina laughs - David’s mathematics skills really could use a bit of sharpening.

She relaxes back into her chair a bit as they go through their usual pleasantries. Regina is dressed more modern today, in light gray slacks and a matching blazer, with a crisp white shirt underneath. Her hair is up, but it’s not a severe style, instead, her long bangs are sideswept, the rest of her hair curled into loose waves that are gathered into a ponytail that bounces against the center of her back when she moves. Her doppelganger is in her usual Evil Queen garb - black leather pants, a low cut corset beneath a beautifully embroidered dark purple riding jacket with long flowing tails, and an updo that twists all of her lovely black hair up and off her face in a way that looks like it would take an entire can of hairspray to perfect, if she didn’t have magic.

“Anyway,” the Evil Queen continues, “I’m here to tell you I’ve found a solution to our little problem.”

“Oh?” she asks, straightening up in her chair, unable to decide if she’s more eager or nervous for the answer. “What problem is that?”

Queenie frowns, drops her feet from Regina’s desk with a _thud_ and leans forward so that she’s now looking Regina straight in the eyes. “The problem where you and I are frozen in moderation, only able to ever meet half of our potential, thanks to those fucking shears.”

Regina nods. She’ll not play games if Queenie isn’t. “And what solution have you found?” she asks, “A way to sever it, or to rebind it?”

The Evil Queen looks _very_ smug as she leans back in the chair once more and says, “Both.”

Shit.

That is not exactly what Regina was hoping to hear. She had hoped for only one option - that way there wouldn’t be any need for an argument - and now, if they don’t agree, this could quickly get complicated.

“So what do you want to do?” Queenie raises an eyebrow and looks intently at her. “If we sever it, we go our separate ways from now on. We’ll be free of each other, our hearts will have no connection, we become fully independent.”

Regina tips her head in understanding, runs a hand over her forehead as the stress of the situation weighs heavy on her.

“Or, we fix this mess that we _both_ made. We go back to when there was just one of us - _all_ of the light, and _all_ of the dark in one heart, and we find out just who Regina Mills is now.” Queenie shrugs and says, “What’s _your_ flavor?”

Regina has had six months to think about this, and she knows what she wants. She just hopes it’s the same thing her counterpart does, because if it’s not, Regina isn’t willing to give up without a fight, and if it has to, this could get ugly.

“I want to recombine,” she tells the Evil Queen. “We both have so many strengths - strengths that far outweigh our weaknesses now. I’m sorry I cut you out of me, but I’m not sorry that we are better for it now, and I think together, we’ll be even more so. There are far more advantages to us being together than apart. We will certainly be stronger, and perhaps, truly happy if we combine.”

Queenie stares at her for a long moment, and Regina prays that the other woman agrees, that she sees the sense this makes. Cutting the bond is certainly one way to go, and at one point, when half of her was still obsessed with revenge and brimming with hate, she would have definitely preferred it. But that is no longer the case - not by a long shot - and she hopes that the Evil Queen can see how far they have _both_ come, that she now has enough goodness in her heart to make the right decision.

“You can save the sales pitch,” Queenie sighs, “You’re not the only one who is… unsatisfied, you know. You may have more cause for complaints, but let me tell you, it’s quite frustrating to have everything you want, and _still_ feel like you’re only half of the person that you should be.”

Regina is surprised that the Evil Queen is willing to admit this. “So you feel like this too?”

“My dear, I may have been the one to cut the cord,” her doppleganger growls, “But it doesn’t mean I _should have_.”

“Are you admitting that you regret it?”

Queenie rolls her eyes, “How can I not when something inside of me always feels… _fake?_ ” She huffs out an irritated breath, looks Regina squarely in the eye and snaps, “We both know that I am a _piece_ of you Regina, I was never meant to exist on my own.”

The truth of her statement lies heavy between them, and Regina takes a moment to let that sink in.

“Now, before we decide what to do,” the Evil Queen drawls, “I need you to answer me this.”

Regina raises her chin and listens intently, understanding the gravity with which her counterpart is asking the question - the woman’s entire existence depends on it.

“Do you and Robin get along?” Regina watches Queenie carefully while the woman drops her dark eyes and fidgets with the elaborate, diamond encrusted band that encircles her left ring finger. “Did the two of you become _friendly_ while I was away? Were you good to him, or did you just shut him out the entire time?”

Her heart clenches with empathy for her counterpart - Queenie obviously loves Robin and is adorably concerned for his future - but then Regina feels her face heat with embarrassment. Oh, she was good to him alright. They literally kissed each other senseless before she left this morning. He had kept her in bed for so long, in fact, that she was thirty minutes late for her first meeting of the day, and she’d had to use magic to heal the hickey on her breast that was peeking out from the low neckline of her shirt, which Snow very politely pointed out to her, but not until halfway through her _third_ meeting of the day.

“Regina?” the Evil Queen prompts, and she shakes herself back into the conversation.

“Yes,” she says quickly, and Queenie frowns in confusion, so she elaborates, “We’ve become close, um, we’ve gotten _very_ close, actually. When he first showed up at my door, he explained that you could sense that I was unhappy, and that while you were away, you wanted us to _see what happened_.” She pauses, and an awful thought flickers through her mind, “Oh gods, please tell me that wasn’t just a line to get me into bed.”

Queenie stares at her for a few seconds, and Regina crosses her arms defensively, feeling rather exposed.

“No, it wasn’t a line, that _is_ what I asked of him,” the Evil Queen continues to study her, and Regina feels annoyed at her scrutiny. “You’ve become _very_ close, you say?”

Regina nods.

“How close?”

Regina rolls her eyes, but at Queenie’s insistence, she throws up her hands in irritation and snaps, “I don’t know, _very._ I suppose that one might say we’re _together_ , though I don’t know what the hell happens now that you’re back.”

There’s a charged moment of silence where the two women stare at each other, and then suddenly, the Evil Queen bursts out laughing and starts clapping her hands excitedly. “Well, fuck me!” she wipes at her eyes as she continues to crack up, “I had hoped you’d connect, but I didn’t expect _this!_ ”

“I’m not sure I follow you.” Regina sees _no_ humor at all in their weird situation.

“Oh stop!” the Evil Queen chuckles, “You can’t hide from me, my dear. You’re obviously in love with him.”

Regina starts to argue, but Queenie raises her brows in an amused challenge, and she snaps her mouth shut instead. It’s true - she _can’t_ hide this from her, and when she thinks about it, she supposes she doesn’t really want to, either.

“Now this is a happy coincidence, isn’t it?” her doppleganger raises a hand to smooth her thick black hair back into her updo and looks outrageously pleased with herself.

“Is it, now?” Regina still isn’t laughing, _gods_ , her counterpart can be _so_ annoying.

“Yes!” The Evil Queen stands from behind the desk and strides confidently around to Regina, then holds out her hand. “Come on,” she orders, grinning madly from ear to ear.

“Where are we going?”

“ _So_ suspicious!” Queenie teases, rolls her eyes and thrusts her hand insistently at Regina again, until the Good Queen takes it and stands up next to her. Damn, Regina _is_ a little shorter than her… maybe it’s the shoes.

“ _We_ are going to recombine,” The Evil Queen says matter-of-factly, “Because if I was at all unsure before - which I wasn’t, by the way - I’ve now confirmed that we’re both foolishly in love with that man, and I can’t wait to feel what that’s like when we’re a whole person again. Can you?”

Realization dawns on Regina that for the first time, maybe ever, she’s about to get what she wants without having to sacrifice something. This is happening because she has _already_ done the sacrificing, endured the heartbreak, performed the terrible deeds, lived in the misery - all the hard work is over. _This_ is the reward, _finally_ , and she grins as wide as her counterpart. “No, I can’t wait.”


	4. Chapter 4

Queenie poofs them into an old barn, and while her counterpart busies herself with lighting up the place with a few well placed torches, it takes Regina a moment to recognize it. When she does though, when she realizes where she is, she literally stumbles and has to grab for an old support beam to keep herself upright, because it slams into her like a freight train.

It’s not a barn, it’s a stable.

The stable where Daniel was murdered.

“What are we doing here?” she croaks, already overwhelmed with emotion. She hasn’t been back here since her mother crushed her true love’s heart, hasn’t been able to face this place where she lost so much so fast. Regina has a thousand memories of being with Daniel here; she can feel him all around her and clearly recalls those last few cherished moments they shared. She closes her eyes, and swears she can hear the echo of his voice encouraging her, professing his love for her, giving her the strength to stand up to her mother. And when she opens them, she can see his heart being turned to ash, his lifeless body falling, the way the light had already vacated his eyes when she gathered him in her arms and held him for the last time.

“For this to work, we need to invoke a deep sense of bonding between us,” the Evil Queen explains. “Seeing that we’re so very different these days, the only thing I could think of that we might ever really agree on, is that Daniel didn’t deserve any of this.”

Regina nods her understanding. She knows now that she used Daniel as her excuse for years, that she twisted her love for him into ugly, sick reasons for her to take, and to torture, and to do whatever else she pleased. And he didn’t deserve that - not her Daniel, not her sweet stable boy, whose only sin was in loving her.

Having sufficiently lit up the stable, Queenie returns to her, and holds out her hand.

She is holding a flawless, dark red apple, and Regina outright laughs.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Obviously, this wasn’t my idea,” the Evil Queen flips one hand disinterestedly, “Much too cliche. You can blame that crazy old bat who kept trying to sell me these dreadful wooden bear carvings in exchange for the spell, _which_ , by the way, you owe me for half of.”

Regina rolls her eyes and takes the apple, then Queenie walks to the other end of the stable, picks something up, gives it a few good shakes to get the straw off, and comes back. She holds up the item for Regina to inspect, and she smiles mournfully, reaches out and reverently skates her fingers over the rich, royal purple fabric, traces the double embroidered RR, and feels a hot tear slip down her cheek when she thinks of how she betrayed the big, chestnut horse who was always more of a friend than a pet.

“I can’t believe you found Rocinante’s stable blanket,” there is gravel in her voice from her anguished emotions, but thankfully the Evil Queen doesn’t mention it.

“I’m _black-_ hearted, not heart- _less_ ,” her doppleganger tries to give her a cocky smile, but it’s weak and Regina sees through it. On a whim, she pulls her to her by the upper arm and wraps her in a tight hug.

It’s an honest embrace, however brief, and the Evil Queen is surprisingly tolerant before she gently steps back to direct them over to the exact spot where they both know Daniel’s body fell. She unfolds the large purple horse blanket then, and wraps it carefully around both of their shoulders, cocooning them safely inside of it.

“Alright, you have the apple?” Queenie asks.

“Of course.”

“All that’s left is to perform the spell, then we each take a bite of the apple, and hope that that crafty old hag wasn’t just pulling my leg.”

For the first time this evening, Regina notices that Queenie looks quite nervous.

“Well, if she was, she’ll have _two_ very pissed off customers to deal with,” Regina says dryly, then tries to reassure, “And what’s the worst that could happen? Nothing? We’ve made it through a hell of a lot worse, you know. And don’t forget, from everything Henry has taught us, this pretty much _has_ to work because we’re heroes now,” Queenie snorts, and Regina raises an eyebrow and corrects, “Well, we’re close enough.”

The Evil Queen laughs softly and agrees, “Close enough.”

With that, the two queens, one “Good” and one “Evil,” take a breath to prepare themselves, then they nod their readiness.

The Evil Queen tightens the stable blanket around them with one hand and centers her other hand between them, hovering over the apple that the Good Queen is holding up. She makes a series of intricate motions, and shimmering, dark purple smoke slowly starts to slither from her fingertips. She begins the spell, chanting slowly and clearly in English, and nods for Regina to repeat it with her, until Regina’s own magic is flowing freely as well, slightly lighter purple in color, rising up in wispy tendrils from her fingers from beneath the apple.

“Fate be changed, look inside. Mend the bond, torn by pride.”

Their voices combine, and then their magic starts to thread together, the strands interweaving around the apple in a beautiful, glittering purple vortex, which spins faster, and faster, and _faster_ , the force of it creating a whirlwind between them. Regina’s jet black hair whips wildly around her, and she squints her eyes when the light of their magic starts to intensify, shining brighter and brighter in the center of the miniature maelstrom, then suddenly, with a booming _clap!_ like a lightning strike, all of the magic gets sucked into the apple, the light goes out, the wind dies down, and the two women are left standing in the stable with one thing left to do.

“Well,” Regina says, slightly breathless. “Shall we have a bite?”

The Evil Queen holds her gaze for a moment, gives her a cocky little smirk and says, “I never thought I’d be tasting my own forbidden fruit.”

Regina bumps her eyebrows up, and apparently that’s all the encouragement Queenie needs, because she grabs the apple and takes a bite. Regina follows suit, and they both proceed to cringe and make faces at how god-awful the fruit tastes while they choke it down.

“So what happens now?” Regina smacks her lips in distaste and glances around the stable while she waits rather impatiently for something to transpire.

“No idea.”

She snaps her attention back to the Evil Queen.

“What?!”

Queenie shrugs. “It’s a bit too late to be asking that anyway, isn’t it?”

There is a tingling sensation that starts in her hands then, and Regina looks down to see them glowing, a soft red that intensifies as the feeling spreads throughout her body. She looks up to see that the same thing is happening to her doppleganger, and she locks eyes with her, knowing somehow that this is the last time she will ever be able to do so. Suddenly they’re being pulled together - an invisible force shoving them toward each other - and it is the exact opposite feeling of when she used the serum to split her. There is no pain, no horrible sickness pulsing through her veins, no fear of facing what is to come. No, Regina feels peaceful, her blood is rushing with this intense sensation of tranquility flowing through her, and Queenie appears to feel the same, because her expression isn’t one of concern either. She looks accepting, looks as calm as Regina feels, and at the exact moment their bodies would collide in the space beneath Rocinante’s blanket, instead, they coalesce in a brilliant flare of shimmering bright-white light that bursts into the air, fills the stable and shakes the earth beneath their feet.

When Regina opens her eyes, she is alone on her hands and knees, her head bowed, with the purple horse blanket wrapped around her shoulders and draped upon the dirt floor. She takes a few seconds to collect herself - her body buzzing with energy, her vision is blurry and she blinks slowly to clear it, allowing her pulse to slowly return to normal.

She swirls her fingers through the loose soil beneath her hands and thinks back on the last time she crouched in this very spot, about how her heart had been splintered in half, how it had been charred so badly it had sent her charging down a path of death, destruction, and horror of which no one had ever seen the likes of.

It has been many years since that day, and Regina has learned so much. She has many to thank for this - her son, her soulmate and his son, her family and friends, and even herself. She makes different choices now - the _right_ choices, even when they’re difficult - and she knows without a doubt that were it to happen again, were she to lose a loved one - she would choose a different path. She knows this because she _has done it_ , she has lived through the painful death of her soulmate and she has gone on to do good, she has pushed the darkness right _out_ of her instead of using it to bring suffering unto others. She has healed the most damaged parts of her soul instead of simply trying to remove them; she has fought hard to redeem herself, and she has embraced _every_ part of her now, not just the light but the darkness too, welcoming it back with acceptance and the understanding that she need not be perfect. With this spell, she has made herself whole again - she has come full circle - and she can _finally_ be the person she should have been all along.

She takes a slow, deep breath, fills her lungs with the cold evening air and wraps the blanket of her faithful steed tightly around her shoulders. Then on strong, steady legs, Regina Mills rises.


	5. Chapter 5

When she returns to the mayoral mansion, it’s quite late, but he’s waiting up, her Robin, just like she knew he would be. The dining room table is set for two, there are tall unlit candles in place, and he’s even used the good china and the real silverware - which she once joked about locking away with magic just in case it got a little too tempting for his sticky fingers. He’s used the gold-rimmed wine glasses this evening too, and she smiles endearingly while shrugging out of her coat and slipping off her heels before heading into the kitchen to find him.

He’s seated on a barstool at the island, a book in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other. When she enters the room, he glances up, marks his page, then swivels in his seat to greet her.

“Sorry I’m late,” she drawls.

She starts to say more but stops when he suddenly shoves himself up from the barstool, knocking it over with the hurried motion, the book falling right out of his hand and to the floor with a clatter.

“ _Bloody-fucking-hell,_ ” he gasps, staring at her with wide eyes.

“Are you quite alright?” she doesn’t dare to step closer to him - he’s gone pale and is clearly shocked.

Is the change in her really that obvious?

“Wha–” he trails off, his eyes scanning her wildly, running repeatedly up and down the length of her body, then focusing so intently on her face that she starts to feel very self-conscious. “What’s happened?”

Regina swallows thickly and fights a bellyful of nerves. “The Evil Queen paid me a visit in my office today,” she explains as carefully and as calmly as possible, her hands raised in front of her, trembling just a little. “She told me that she found ways to sever or to re-bind us, and, after a bit of deliberation, we decided that it was best if we were re-bound.”

“Christ alive,” he breathes, taking a hard step toward her then pulling up sharply to stare at her again. “So now you’re… the two of you are…?”

She nods and indicates to herself, “We are one and the same again, a whole person, instead of two halves.”

He scrubs his hands over his face, takes another step toward her and now that he’s closer, she can see that he’s shaking all over. There are tears in his eyes, and she wants so badly to comfort him, but she isn’t sure if that’s wanted, or if it’s allowed. She doesn’t know if she’s what he wants anymore - cannot tell from his reaction what he’s thinking at all.

“And are you, do you…” he pauses and swipes quickly at his eyes, takes another step toward her and rasps, “Do you feel… happy?”

She can’t speak - she’s too anxious from watching his reaction to her - so in response she simply holds his gaze, licks her lips and solemnly nods her head.

Robin launches himself at her so fast that all she can do is throw her arms around his neck as she absorbs the momentum, her body curling into his as he wraps her up and hugs her tightly to him. In his excitement he lifts her right off the floor, and while he spins her around and around in sweet elation, he tucks his face into the side of her neck, where he whispers his thanks to every deity in every realm she has ever heard of.

When he finally calms, she ends up with her back to the kitchen wall, and Regina runs her hands over his broad shoulders, closes her eyes, and revels in the way her heart soars at his touch, at how every single nerve positively ignites with pure affection for him. This is what it feels like - she remembers - _this_ is what soulmate love is supposed to be. She can feel it, _all of it_ , deep within; she can feel her love for him in every single cell that comprises her. Regina pulls Robin, _her_ Robin, impossibly closer, overflowing with appreciation for the chance to have this when she was so certain she was destined to be without.

They hold each other close for several minutes, reeling from the way it feels to be together now, how it’s so different, and yet, still incredibly familiar. Robin’s hands thoroughly explore her - running the planes of her back, smoothing over her hips, stroking up her arms, and cupping her jaw. He studies her face and gazes into her eyes, presses sweet kisses to her lips and then starts all over again, staring as if he’s in awe of her, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. She feels enraptured with him, her heart is beating so strongly it feels more like someone is pounding on a bass drum inside of her chest. She cannot believe how good this feels, how _right_.

There’s a flicker of uncertainty in him though, she can see it in the furrow of his brow, the set of his jaw, so she asks him about it. She has made too many mistakes in love to allow for there to be any doubts between them.

“It’s just, uh, the Evil Queen - she’s just… gone then?” he looks more and more downcast as he continues, “I don’t even get to say goodbye?”

There is sincere sorrow in his eyes, and she realizes that this must be difficult for him to understand, that he must be feeling a great loss. In reality, they have both gained _so much_ from this, and she must help him see it, she must help him realize that he hasn’t lost the Evil Queen, not in the way he thinks he has.

“No, she’s not gone, not really,” she runs her fingers across the curve of his cheekbone and down to trace his jaw. “She’s a part of me - she always was, but now that’s a bit more literal,” she smiles sympathetically and strokes her other hand up and down his bicep. “This is what she wanted – for the pieces to be put back together, to become whole again, so that she and I could truly be happy. She didn’t want to be a fragment anymore, and neither did I.” Regina takes a deep breath and runs her hands across the tops of his shoulders, hoping he understands. “Queenie isn’t gone, we’re simply fused back together, we’re one person, just as we were on the day I was born.” She smiles, raises an eyebrow and teases, “So don’t think for a second you’re off the hook for any loose ends you left with her, Locksley. I’ve got all of her memories and I know exactly what debts I’m owed.”

That last part breaks the tension, and he laughs lightly, wraps his hands around her hips and squeezes. “Is that right?” he grins, and she raises her brows, hums her affirmation. “Am I under arrest then?”

“Definitely.”

He chuckles as he steps into her, then raises one hand to guide a few rogue strands of her bangs off of her forehead.

“I’m not sure I totally understand this,” he murmurs, “But I know you wouldn’t have hurt her, you wouldn’t have done this unless it was the right thing to do.” Robin’s eyes shine with honesty, and she loves him for his faith in her, for his unwavering trust. _Gods_ , how she loves him.

She smiles sweetly, leans in and presses her lips to his, but then she has to ask him something, because her life has been full of unhappy surprises, and she can’t bear not knowing exactly how he feels going forward.

“I know that this is… very strange,” she frowns, nervously tightening her fingers around the curves of his shoulders. “I’m different now, I suppose I’m the combination of my light and dark halves - the _real_ Regina Mills, the whole package - and this is going to be an adjustment for both of us.” Robin tips his head to the side and studies her as she forces out the question she both dreads, and needs the answer to like it’s her next breath. “Are you sure you can love me like this?”

His expression turns serious as his blue eyes connect with her brown, and he doesn’t even hesitate before he professes quietly, “Regina, I have loved you as the Evil Queen, and I have loved you as the Good Queen,” he pauses and leans forward to brush his nose against hers, “and now I’ll love you like this. Whether that’s as individual fragments or as their summation, to me, it makes no difference - I’ll always love you just as you are.”

And he does.

It is strangely freeing to be loved for who she is, for him to be so accepting of this change in her when she’s been rejected by so many for so long. And because she’s become used to the _opposite_ reaction, she can’t help but to be a little skeptical of him, not because she doesn’t believe _him,_ per se, but because she doesn’t trust the universe as a whole.

Happy endings just don’t happen for Regina Mills.

She frames the sides of Robin’s face with her fine-boned hands, looks into his eyes and just stares in disbelief for a moment before she speaks.

“When he…”

 _Fuck_ this is difficult. Her voice is rough with gravel and she’s forced to pause and clear her throat before she tries again.

“When Robin, when he died,” she takes a shuddering breath, finds the courage she’s searching for reflecting in his beautiful blue eyes and continues, “I thought that was it for me. He was my soulmate, and I have never even tried to get over him. There’s been no point.”

Locksley slides his hands around to her lower back and rubs little soothing circles as she speaks, but holds his tongue while she struggles through it.

“I _know_ I can’t get over him. But I wouldn’t try to, even if I thought I could,” she shrugs, ignores the tears in her eyes and gives him a watery smile, unashamed of her love for Robin Hood. “But now there’s you, too,” she runs her thumbs across his cheeks, and her smile grows. “And you’re just so… _you._ ”

He chuckles and looks down a little shyly, and her heart flips over at how adorable he is in these rare moments of vulnerability.

“You are the Evil Queen’s soulmate,” Regina continues, “and she is a part of me. So, I can’t believe I’m saying this but… maybe it’s possible for me to have another second chance. Maybe I’m screwed up _just enough_ that it’s okay for us to be soulmates, too, and _gods_ , I really hope so, because Robin, I am so in love with you.”

His hand comes up and wipes her tears away for her, and she shifts her hands down to grip at the lapels of his dark green button up, noticing for the first time that he’s dressed up for her tonight - he’s even done his hair and trimmed his beard. He’d apparently gone all out for Valentine’s Day, which was sweet, and romantic, and something she _never_ would have guessed he would do, and it just makes her appreciate him that much more.

“I know how important Hood was to you, and how much you still love him,” Robin ducks his head and holds her gaze, “And I don’t think you should _get over_ him. I don’t expect that, and I’d never ask it of you.”

She knows he wouldn’t, but to hear him say it still feels like a giant weight has been lifted, and she sighs heavily in relief.

“I love you, Regina,” he furrows his brow, determination in his eyes, “And regardless of how many other soulmates you’ve had, I know that our feelings for each other are real. There are no rules when it comes to love, darling, no reason for us to doubt this.”

She resolutely shakes her head in agreement – she can feel it, she knows in her _whole_ heart, that he is right.

A beat of understanding passes between them, then Robin nods once, curls one corner of his mouth up in a cocky grin and drawls, “And to be fair, Hood wasn’t the only bloke with a lion tattoo. He just beat me to the punch is all.”

She laughs and rolls her eyes; that’s her Robin of Locksley, he’s such a scoundrel, he can’t be _totally_ serious - not for long anyway.

She asks him if they should try to salvage the date he put together for them, since he went through so much effort and it seems a shame to waste it, but he just shrugs, tugs her a little closer and whispers _later_ against her lips.

It’s a slow ascension to her bedroom, made particularly difficult because her eyes are closed, she’s walking backwards, and her hands are busy running through his hair, across the scratchy stubble of his cheeks, and along the warm muscles of his neck. For every two steps, she gets one of his shirt buttons undone, using their height difference to her advantage to duck under his chin and press hot, wet kisses to his throat while she exposes more and more of his chest. She feels like she’s in slow motion, like she has literally all the time in the world with him, and she’s determined to take advantage of it.

By the time they reach the stairs, she has his shirt undone, including the cuffs, but she doesn’t shove it off of him like she has so many other nights. Instead, she runs her hands slow, slow, slowly, up his abdominal muscles, her lips parting with anticipation as she watches him quiver beneath her gentle touch. She flattens her palms and smooths her hands over his body, boldly watching herself touch him, mapping every line of his chest beneath the sensitive tips of her fingers, skating up across his pectorals and to the tops of his bulky shoulders, where she curls her hands and traces the bulges of his muscles and starts the trek downward, using only the guidance of her hands and gravity to inch his shirt down. His breathing accelerates under her scrutiny, but Regina pays no mind to it, she is shameless in her perusal of him, lost in the moment, in the way time seems to stand still while her soulmate is literally bared to her. His shirt falls to the floor with a soft swishing sound, and suddenly she doesn’t want to be doing this at the foot of her stairs. So she takes his hand in hers, and with the poise and composure of a queen, she tells him, “Come to bed.”

She loses just a little of her patience once they are upstairs - his lips on her neck, his hands tracing over the curves of her hips, stroking over her stomach, skating just under her bra definitely have something to do with that - so the rest of his clothes are divested quite a bit faster than his shirt was. He’s glorious in his nakedness though, and she urges him to lay back on her bed before she crawls slowly up the long, lean length of him, even though she is still fully clothed. She’s not even thinking about her needs yet, she just thinks he’s beautiful, and she needs to touch him. _Gods_ , if she could figure out a way, she would engrave this perfect image of him in her memory.

She straddles his hips and leans forward onto her hands to hover over him, grateful her hair is still tied back so it doesn’t get in the way when she kisses him. Robin slides his hands up the tops of her thighs, then circles them around to the back, urging her to part her legs further. She complies, sinks down onto him just enough to get distracted by the small amount of friction the move creates at her core, and puffs out an excited breath against his lips.

“ _Christ_ , you’re bloody beautiful,” he murmurs, bringing one hand up and slipping it around the back of her neck. His lips are firm and insistent, a solid press in one second, a hot, sucking pull in the next, his tongue slipping into her mouth to play with hers in a familiar intimate dance they’ve been perfecting for months. His kisses make her smile, make her gasp and bite back little moans of pleasure, and everything feels so heightened, feels familiar but incredibly new at the very same time. Regina suddenly wants to be skin to skin with him, she needs to feel her _whole_ heart beating against his, to experience loving him with _all_ that she is, so she shoves herself up into a sitting position and quickly starts to undo the buttons on her shirt.

“Uh uh,” Robin’s hands find hers, halting her flurrying fingers. “You took your sweet time with me, my love, I believe it’s my turn now, yeah?”

She nods her agreement - he’s absolutely right, she took forever and he was so patient - the least she can do is allow him the same.

He sits up and gets to work on the buttons she was so desperate to release, his thief’s fingers more dexterous by trade to begin with, but much more steady now anyway thanks to her heightened anticipation. Their faces are close when, at last, he parts the two halves of her shirt and slowly peels it open, his breath slipping out in one long huff as he helps her out of it. He goes for her bra next, his index fingers slipping under the shoulder straps and sliding up and down before he teasingly traces the lace edges of the cups. He murmurs the word, _exquisite_ , when he unhooks the clasp of her bra, then pushes down one of the straps with his nose by simply pressing a line of kisses that starts at the crook of her neck and goes all the way to the curve of her shoulder. When he does the same to the other side, the garment slips the rest of the way down on its own, the soft fabric catches on her hardened nipples, and she arches in a silent request for more.

“You know,” he leans forward and kisses along the length of her collarbones, “This seemed like a brilliant plan when we started, but now - other than using magic - I’ve no idea how to get your knickers off without you leaving my lap. Would you be opposed?” He looks so hopeful that she can’t help but to laugh lightly at his eagerness, especially because she’s in full agreement - she has zero desire to move from where she is currently pressed up against him.

“Not at all.”

Regina makes a quick flick with her wrists, her purple smoke swirls, and then oh, _gods_ \- they’re naked and warm and pressed up against each other - she’s straddling his lap and there is _nothing_ else in all the realms that could possibly feel this good.

_Wrong._

He sneaks a hand between them, and fuck, she’s never changed her opinion so fast.

They’ve had a lot of sex these last few months - shameless, desperate, and raw; sweet, slow, and explorative; playful, exciting, and boundary-pushing. They’ve undoubtedly covered the bases, but the way she’s with him right now, this heightened level of intimacy she’s experiencing - it somehow feels like they’ve been unable to reach it before.

“I’m in love with you, Robin of Locksley,” she whispers, tracing the very tips of her fingers lightly, oh-so-lightly, over his face. “I’m Regina Mills and I’m in love with you.” She’s not sure why she feels the need to reiterate this information, she can tell from the sweet smile on his face that he believes her, but she just wants, just _needs_ to hear the words out loud.

She turns her hands over and strokes the backs of her fingers down his face and neck, smiling softly and biting her lower lip, caught up in this tender moment. She loves him, _adores_ him, and she is trying her best to show him that, to communicate that she intends to cherish him, to devote herself to him. It has not been easy for her to commit to such things, there were entire decades where she shunned love and chose to wallow in hate, knowing she was miserable but too stubborn to change her path - but not anymore.

Regina has changed. She has grown and evolved, she is under no one’s control, and she has accepted herself. She is neither the Evil Queen _or_ the Good Queen - no, things are not so black and white. But somehow, she knows that the next time she looks in the mirror, she’s not going to hate the person she sees looking back at her - not even a little bit - and it is so freeing, because she knows who she is, and she knows who she loves, and that makes it so much easier to express it _._

She rocks her hips slowly and presses down against Robin’s thick fingers, which he’s started to tease along her core. He’s touching her with reverence tonight, with a slow sweetness that makes her hands shake with how much she cares for him. When he glides his fingers between her lips, gathering the moisture he finds there, sliding up and back in long, slippery strokes, she hums in pleasure and wraps a hand around the back of his neck to pull his head to hers, so their foreheads are pressed together.

“I love you,” she breathes, moans softly when he dips shallowly in and out of her with one thick finger, then sweeps up slowly to circle around and around her swollen clit, “with my whole heart, _gods,_ Robin.”

“Say it again,” the whisper of his warm breath is a caress against her lips.

“I love you.” It’s getting easier and easier to say, and she almost laughs, because the release from her anxiety over _not_ being able to say it is so intense that it makes her feel punch-drunk, astonished, and dazed.

When Robin slips one finger carefully into her, sliding deep in an easy, sure stroke, a quiet whine spills from her lips, followed by a soft, “ _Ohhh_ ,” and a roll of her hips that she’s helpless to stop. He kisses her and she can feel his smile beneath her lips, the sweet curve and brush of his stubble against her chin even more sexy than any rough or playful encounters they have shared. His other hand smooths around to her lower back and presses down, holding her to him when he adds a second finger and gives her several gentle strokes, his fingers nice and slick, a welcome intrusion that has her taking quick breaths and nipping excitedly at his bottom lip. She can’t seem to contain her approval, a medley of sweet noises escapes her as her arousal blooms in her belly, warmth and wetness building quickly from the curling taps of his fingers and the hot sucking pull of his lips.

He’s skilled with his hands, and she knows it, knows he can do incredible things for her just like this, but it’s not what she wants right now. She wants it _all_. So she tells him this, and he doesn’t object - in fact, he smirks, the cocky idiot - and he _continues_ to grin like the Cheshire Cat right up until she takes him in hand, rubs him through her wet heat and sinks down onto him. _Then_ his smile fades, is quickly replaced when he scrunches his eyes shut in ecstasy, his lips parting on a groan before he rumbles, “So bloody tight, darling.”

“ _Mm_ , you feel so good,” she moans, rising up on her knees and sinking down again and again, getting used to the wide stretch of him, rolling her body and brushing the sensitive, pebbled tips of her breasts against his chest. He has two handfuls of her ass, and he’s not at all shy about pulling her up and down his length, or telling her how _hot_ she is, or how _incredible_ she feels, or how much he wants to _fuck_ the hell out of her (even though he already is). Regina basks in his compliments, and for the first time - perhaps ever - she lets herself believe every single one of them.

In return, she threads her fingers through his soft, silver-streaked blonde hair and sucks wetly along the column of his throat, moves a little faster so that she’s taking his length deeper - _ohhh gods_ \- and tells him again how much she loves him, how she needs him, how she only ever wants _him_ to touch her because only he can make her feel so, _so good_.

“You’re so gorgeous, so wet for me, _Christ,_ ” he murmurs, dropping his head to kiss down the column of her throat, then smoothing his hands up her ribs and guiding her to lean back. He teases her breasts, nips along the swells and sucks each of her nipples in turn, tugs enthusiastically at the pebbled tips and flicks with his talented tongue. When he raises both hands and relentlessly strums across her nipples, she fervently grinds down on his lap and swivels her hips and makes this little, _“ahhh,”_ when he rubs against her g-spot. She’s dripping, soaking his lap with her arousal, the attention on her chest shocking straight to her clit and making her throb where his thick length is buried deep.

She starts panting with the erotic sensations, her head drops back, long hair loose now and hanging down in waves, her hands grip at his chiseled biceps while he pinches, plucks, and rolls her nipples between his fingers, suckles and laves them with his tongue and propels her desire up-up- _up_. One of his hands slides down and his thumb finds her clit, starts to rub smooth little circles on it, and she cries out softly with how good it feels. Her arousal skyrockets, and she brings her head up, her stomach quivering with the spark of arousal that fires through her at his simple touch. Regina clings to him, is suddenly so close to the edge that her entire body is vibrating in his lap, the uncontrollable tremors growing more and more intense with every brush of his fingers against her nipples, every swirl of his thumb on her clit, every thrust of his cock, stretching her wide and driving her wild for more.

He shifts a little, and dots several kisses along her jaw, then he inhales sharply against the side of her neck, and she hears him whisper, “Will you tell me again?”

A hot flush rises up her chest, goosebumps break, and her love for him overwhelms her. For a moment, she can’t speak - there’s a lump in her throat, and she’s shaking all over - hovering on the edge of a climax from the pleasure he is giving to her, her arousal inching up, and up, _and up_ \- and everything is just _so much_ at once. She can’t quite believe this is happening, that she’s been broken and glued back together so many times but she managed to make it through, and now she’s allowed to be with him like this, simply because they are in love. She is the luckiest woman in all the realms.

“I love you,” she presses a hot kiss to his lips, then says it again, and again, and again; and when she kisses him for what must be the millionth time, a bright white light _flashes_ behind her closed eyes, and she is gifted with a glimpse of her future.

It’s brief - only a half of a second - but what she sees knocks all the breath from her lungs.

Because she sees a vision of a girl. A little girl with jet black hair and bright blue eyes, sweet dimples and a perfect smile. A little girl with a hot temper but an incredibly sensitive soul, a penchant for mischief, an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, and a love for horses, nature, and family that is inherent in her blood.

“Rob-” she pants when she finally half-catches a breath, wanting to tell him what she’s just witnessed, her eyes wide with elation and alarm all at once, but he misses it, because he’s distracted. Apparently, he’s decided to take control, and with a quick, well-practiced move, he flips her down on the bed so she’s on her back, pinned beneath him. Then he’s covering her with his big, hot body, _oh gods_ , and she can’t think at all now because once again he’s pushing his hot, thick length inside of her, all the way to the hilt.

He kisses her with a fire and passion that riles her up, that makes her feel needy and desperate, and she so wants to share with him what she saw, but _fuck_ , she can’t concentrate. Then he starts to thrust, giving her long, steady, punctuated strokes, his hips slapping against hers, and all her thoughts get hyper-focused on the way he’s fucking her _so good_ , on the way he’s making her scrabble at his shoulders for purchase to keep from sliding up the bed. She arches under him in rapture, and when he connects with that white-hot spot inside of her, the one that makes her breath hitch and her toes curl, she moans wantonly, tells him, “There, _oh gods_ , just like –”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence - doesn’t need to anyway, he knows how she likes it - because he thrusts hard and steals the rest of her breath. Robin rocks into her over and over _and over_ , one hand threaded in her hair, his mouth on her breasts and neck, nipping, sucking, marking her, giving her absolutely no mercy. She’s gasping and moaning, telling him how good he’s making her feel, working her body in tandem with him, but apparently, he’s not quite satisfied, because he pulls her leg up, hooks her knee over his elbow and starts rutting into her even harder. Like always, his broad length stretches her to her limits - _gods_ he’s thick - and every slick in-stroke makes her feel so _full_ that she groans with appreciation, while every out-stroke causes her to whine as if he’s purposely tormenting her with the emptiness.

Robin continues to up the pace, hammers into her with more and more vigor until she truly starts to lose control. She’s clinging to him, her other leg hooked over his hip, her arms about his back, teeth in his shoulder, her body on fire and enthusiastically taking everything he’s giving her. He doesn’t let up, doesn’t give her any reprieve at all until her cheeks are flushed, there are tears in her eyes from the sheer, overwhelming bliss, her nails are cutting crescent shaped marks into his back, and she’s panting and begging him, “Please-please-Robin, I-need, fuck, _fuck!_ ”

He pulls her leg up onto his shoulder, and _\- oh fuck, oh gods -_ then he brings his fingers to her clit, where he rubs the swollen bud vigorously, and she cries out, bucks beneath him and begs him to make her come. He promises that he will, fucks her fast for several strokes, but gods, it’s almost like she’s too wound up, delirious with need, trembling beneath him so much that she can’t seem to focus on anything, because _everything_ feels too good.

Suddenly Robin slows, drops his weight on her so that their faces are close, their chests pressed together, and he rocks into her with fluid rolls of his hips while he swirls tight little circles over her clit. It’s such a drastic change of pace that she’s stunned, is at a loss for what to do. It’s as if they were in the car and he suddenly slammed on the breaks, but she wasn’t wearing her seatbelt and now she’s flying through the air in slow motion, weightless with her eyes wide open, and she’s reeling, bewildered with no idea what his plan is to salvage the situation. But then Robin looks deeply into her eyes and tells her that he loves her, and just like that, she is centered again.

She tells him she loves him too, kisses and kisses him, weaves her fingers through the short hairs at the back of his head and holds him to her while her lips passionately press and pull at his. He starts to thrust quick and steady again, rubbing her clit in a perfect matching rhythm, and when he glides his tongue alongside hers, then sinks his teeth sharply into her bottom lip, she finally comes apart - positively shatters - the intensity of her release building, and building, _and building_ with every breath she takes.

He keeps her going for what feels like forever, her inner muscles clenching erratically around him, her pulse racing, wetness running from her. She arches and her hands clench, but then, oh gods, her legs start to straighten, and twitch, and then - fuck, _fuck_ \- they’re full-on spasming so that she cannot control them, and her head tips back while she shakes through the full body orgasm. And _still_ he continues to move, careful and steady, massaging her clit, sucking at her nipples and pushing her through several more spikes of pleasure. She writhes with overstimulation, but he allows her no reprieve, no - he keeps her coming, over and over. He convinces her she can take more, praises her when she gushes her release, and when it gets to be too much for his cock, he uses his mouth and fingers to draw more still from her. He gets her to come again, and _again,_ as many times as she is able, before he at last lets her come down, holds her tightly in his arms and brushes her hair out of her eyes while he tells her how _bloody fucking brilliant_ she is, and covers her face, neck, and chest in kisses. She loses track of time while she recovers, then gladly worships his body in return – uses her thick red lips and the sure, teasing strokes of her soft hands to make him just as wild as she was before she takes him back inside of her and rides him until he loses control too. She presses down hard, digs her fingers into his chest, and exhales with bone-deep satisfaction when she feels him fill her with his own desperate release, and then she collapses on top of him, drifts to sleep with a contented smile still curving up the edges of her lips.

She stays right there for the entire night – stays chest to chest, heart to heart, knowing that this is where she belongs – with him. She loves him, and he loves her; she is whole, and happy, and _finally_ , all of the pieces fit.


	6. Chapter 6

Robin of Locksley is truly the first person in Regina’s life to treat her as his primary concern. She was always her mother’s second choice - _power_ was the first. In her marriage to Leopold, Regina was third place at best, coming in after Eva’s memory and then of course, Snow White. In Henry’s life she has been placed firmly behind Emma too many times to count, her lack of a biological bloodline alienating her from being considered his “real” mother enough that she _almost_ believed it at one point. Even with her Robin Hood, she can’t help but remember the sting of when “Marian” returned and he had ended their relationship. Even though he later came back to her and admitted he’d made a mistake, his initial leaving had still hurt, and in the back of her mind she had always wondered why she wasn’t good enough for him to stay in the first place.

Her relationship with Locksley is a mercifully blank slate though. They have none of these strings, none of the sour connotations to battle. He makes the odd mistake, of course, but there is nothing he lets stand between the two of them, no obstacle he won’t immediately destroy with great enthusiasm should it threaten their relationship in any way. He is consistent and unfailing in his decision to love her, and there has never been a day that she has wondered if he will make a different choice. He is never perfect but she never expects it of him, and the same goes for her. They argue and disagree, they laugh and they tease, they talk and they speak of their future with the excitement of teenagers just waiting to explore the world. They are together and they are whole, they are soulmates and they are _happy._

With her newfound confidence, Regina decides that there are more adventures still in store for her, that there are loose ends that still need tying up. So she resigns as the elected queen of the realms (though she maintains her title), and she commits herself to spending her energy where she is truly needed - on the things, or rather, the _people_ she loves - one of which, is still missing.

Roland.

She and Robin concentrate their efforts into finding him, combing through the realms far and wide, searching kingdom by kingdom, using her powerful magic and flexing their vast network of people and resources to dig up clues as to his whereabouts. They haven’t found anything yet, but now that Regina has the use of her whole heart, and her soulmate by her side, there is nothing that can keep her from finding the boy that, right or wrong, in her heart, she still very much considers her own.

She _will_ find him, and she _will_ ensure his happiness, if it is the last thing she does.

_-Fin_


End file.
